To Be Human
by hade5
Summary: Charlie Weasley/OC — She watched him quietly out of the corner of her eye, noting the way his red hair fell in his eyes and the smattering of freckles across his cheekbones. She cursed herself for it, but the brief thought that Weasley was actually pretty good-looking—how had she not noticed it before—flashed through her mind. Maybe it was the Quidditch robes.
1. Part I

**Pairing: Charlie Weasley/OC**

 **A/N: this is going to be a three-shot of sorts yeet**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. All rights go to their respective owners.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

To Be Human

 **※**

 _To be human is to love_

 _Even when it gets too much_

 _I'm not ready to give up_

 **※**

* * *

 **Part I**

It was a drizzly day, with rain falling in sporadic torrents, but to her the sound was comforting, reminiscent of all the times she'd hide out in her favorite alcove in her house after escaping the utterly boring and meaningless heaps of lectures and lessons she'd been forced to endure in a mansion too big for its number of occupants.

The shrill ring of the school bell snapped her out of her brief reverie, and she looked up to sharply to survey the students that exited the classroom along with those waiting to enter. She leaned forward and squinted. The previous class must have been Arithmancy, given the disgusting numbers scrawled across the board in the front of the room. She shuddered. Revolting, that subject was.

Her body jolted when someone hit her shoulder as they shoved past her with a low snicker, and she shot the perpetrator a contemptuous glance, not even needing to look at the color of their tie to know which House they belonged to. Her House shared this class with the sixth-year Gryffindors, who were being their usual boisterous selves off to the side, but she would rather not give the time of day to things that irritated her. She preferred to even avoid most of her own Housemates, if only to dodge their insincere promises of friendships.

Students swarmed into the classroom in a flurry of black robes, talking loudly amongst themselves while fishing textbooks and notebooks out of their bags.

The first of her House into the classroom as usual, she was flanked by the rest of the Slytherins. She scanned the room for her usual spot and it didn't take her long to settle in her seat as Geoffrey squeezed his way into the seat next to her, huffing out in annoyance as he tried to straighten his robes in vain. They remained disheveled.

"Bunch of bloody flobberworms." Her best friend muttered, the petty insult prompting her lips to twitch up in amusement.

"Even our own House? Is there anyone at all you can at least be _civil_ to?" she asked.

"Yeah, there is," he sniffed. "You. But only because I'm after your money."

She held a hand to her chest in mock surprise and stuck out her bottom lip. "Farley, you say the _sweetest_ things to a girl."

The scowl she received in response only served to further increase her merriment.

Professor McGonagall swept into the classroom a few minutes later, her stern features commanding silence and attention from the students, even the Slytherins, though most did so with reluctance. The commotion in the room quickly died down and McGonagall took a moment to survey the class sternly before speaking.

"As you have been informed previously, today marks the beginning of your sixth-year N.E.W.T. projects." The professor announced, one hand placed on a precariously tall pile of books on her desk. "I have hinted this in the past, but let me remind you all once more. You must keep in mind that this project, though not weighted as heavily as your exams will, are of utmost importance and will be factored into your N.E.W.T. grade. Thus, you should be giving this assignment the proper focus and effort. Per tradition, it will be a group pr—"

At the word _group_ , the classroom exploded into a flurry of hushed, excited whispers. She too, couldn't keep her enthusiasm down and smirked, prodding Geoffrey with her arm who nudged her right back.

"Quiet!" McGonagall slammed her hand down on the pile of books which, impressively, remained standing. " _I_ will be selecting your partners."

She received a collective groan from her students for a response, but McGonagall merely pursed her lips and unrolled a scroll of parchment to begin listing off pairs.

"Adley and Wilhelm...Alby and Graham...Beckwith and Hamilton..."

She propped her chin up on her palm, eyes shuttering closed as the professor droned on with the names. The exhaustion of her late night was just now hitting her and she could only hope that McGonagall would have mercy on her and give her a good partner. It was, after all, a huge part of their N.E.W.T. grade. She'd be damned if she buggered up on this assignment because of an unfortunate partner choice.

"Farley and Milton..."

"Shit." The boy sitting next to her hissed and began to shove his books into his bag with displeasure. "Got myself a blasted Gryffindor."

She just snickered at his misfortune, sliding a hand over her mouth to stifle her mirth.

Her amusement didn't last long.

"Malfoy and Weasley."

Saliva went down the wrong way and she began to choke.

Her fingers scrambled on the desk for purchase in her best attempts to refrain from suffocating to death. Though he thumped her back, Geoffrey was grinning wickedly and she could all too clearly tell that he was pleased she was worse off than he. When she finally managed to recover from the bombshell McGonagall had just dropped on her, she sat up straight and tried to regain some semblance of her remaining pride. The entire class had fallen dead silent, torn between staring at her or Charlie Weasley, whose eyebrows were creased in what she could only think to be irritation.

McGonagall peered over her spectacles at her and sighed, "Are you _quite_ alright, Miss Malfoy?"

She managed to snap out a ' _fine'_ , momentarily distracted by the way the Gryffindors were beginning to snicker at her. A few of them seated near Weasley were reaching over to pat him on the back, expressions sympathetic. She glowered across the room at them, but when her eyes landed on Weasley, she was taken aback to see that the look on his face had settled into a contemplative one, instead of one similar to what she currently wore—extreme discontent.

McGonagall snapped her parchment and continued to read off the names, but she wasn't paying any attention to the Transfiguration professor anymore. Instead, she was dreading what the rest of her year was going to be like. Pure torture, most likely.

Her father had made it very clear since an early age that Weasleys were the _vermin_ of the wizarding world. _A disgrace to magic_ , he'd once said to her during one of their regular...bonding sessions—if that's what one could call it—while seated on his extravagant armchair as she'd looked up at him with wide eyes from her place on the ground with her stuffed animals. The sheer amount of loathing in his eyes had made it clear to her that this was something that could not be disputed. Thus, she'd made it her goal to avoid all blood traitors like Weasley, along with all the Mudbloods of course. But unlike her father, she didn't like going out of her way to be rude, which unfortunately, she had to be every time she was forced to speak to a blood traitor or Mudblood in public. It was traditional Malfoy etiquette, really. No, the less interaction with those who were undesirable to her family's reputation, the better. Her plan had mostly worked, the one exception currently living in a hut not far out from the castle.

At least, it had worked pretty well up until _now_.

"Since our time together today is rather short, I expect you to begin considering ideas for your project." McGonagall flicked her wand and rolls of parchment flew out from her desk to settle on each of the students'. "Instructions have already been given to you but they are now before you on parchment for reference. Any questions should be discussed with your partner and other groups before coming to me. You may now join your partners and begin."

Weasley had already picked up his things and was making his way over, probably realizing that she wasn't going to be moving for anyone, much less him. She simply crossed her legs and folded her arms, leaning into the back of her seat.

He sat down next to her almost tentatively and cleared his throat. "Er—"

She gave him a withering stare before unfolding her arms and asserting simply, "Alright, Weasley. Since I'm stuck with you for the remainder of this year, I'd like to get a few things straight so you don't make my life a living hell. Don't speak to me unless it's about or related to the project. Don't get in my way. If you do anything to interfere with my success in this class, I will make _your_ life a living hell, understand?"

The red-haired Gryffindor only opened his mouth wordlessly before closing it again. He nodded. Satisfied with his response, she leaned forward.

"Now that we're on the same page, let's begin. The five main branches of Transfiguration are Human Transfiguration, Conjuring, Switching, Untransfiguration, and Vanishment. Switching is a pansy topic so we're not doing that." She lifted her wand and her notebook soared out of her bag to land in front of her on an empty page. A determined look passed over her face and she began to scribble neatly on the page. "Let's do Human Transfiguration. It's probably the hardest topic there is and if we show we've mastered that, it's a guaranteed Outstanding."

She peered up at him briefly, only to find him smiling down at her strangely but once he met her eyes, the look vanished. "Something _funny_ , Weasley?"

He coughed and shook his head. "No, not at all. Are you thinking about researching about Animagi?"

His response took her by surprise since she'd expected at least some disagreement from a Weasley, but then again, maybe he was as motivated for a good grade as she was. Unlikely, but possible.

A smirk flitted over her face and she lowered her voice so the neighboring students wouldn't be able to hear. "Oh, I'm not thinking about just researching them. I'm thinking we _become_ them."

It was his turn to choke this time and her smirk widened. She set her quill down and eyed the flustered redhead in front of her. "Problem?"

"Are you...quite _mad_?" He spluttered in disbelief. "We haven't even _breached_ the fundamentals of it in class yet and this takes _months_ to accomplish, not to mention the fact that we'll have to go around with a mandrake leaf in our mouth for a full _month_. That's...that's impossible to do when we have class, _meals_ , friends. And then the mental toil we'll have to go through when practicing transforming. If we fail—"

"And _if_ we fail, I have a back-up that we can do in one month. It'll give us at least an Acceptable. But we won't fail, not with my plan." She tilted her head. "Listen, N.E.W.T. projects are designed to bring your scores down. I won't accept anything less than an Outstanding. And this project meets all of McGonagall's instructions, not to mention this is the last thing she'll be expecting a pair to do. She's expecting boring research presentations from everyone, not a live demonstration of Animagi transformations. Are you in or not?"

"This is a group project." He said in a low voice. "What happens if one of us can't do it?"

She eyed him, annoyance clear in her expression, and sniffed. "I know _I_ can do it. But if you can't do it by the date I have down, we can just say you were taking measurements and observing my progress. It won't take long, especially if we're already recording as we go. So _are you in_?"

He bit his lip but looked down at the page she'd turned to. The page already outlined everything they had to do with deadlines and what information should be recorded for the written part of the project. She waited impatiently for him to finish reading, but when he reached the last sentence, he nodded.

"It's mad. It's mad, but it's brilliant." He looked at her.

Her eyebrow arched in surprise at the compliment and what she could have sworn was admiration in his eyes, but she shook it off and scoffed, "Of course it is. I thought of it."

"When do we start?"

Her signature smirk slid back into place and she lifted a small jar of mandrake leaves from her bag.

"Now."

 **※**

"You've lost your marbles. I expected it to happen sometime this year." Geoffrey folded his hands behind his head and sighed delicately. "For the first time, I'll be getting better marks than you, thank you _very_ much."

"In your dreams, Farley," she replied, her tongue pushing the mandrake leaf to the side of her mouth. "I may have Weasley for a partner but my brain is far superior to yours, you'd do well to keep that in mind."

Geoffrey sneered at her but didn't retort, partly because it was true.

It had taken him a week to get her to reveal her project idea and he had promptly burst out laughing when she finally told him. He, on the other hand, was doing a simple research project with variable manipulations in Conjuring—a cop out idea, if you asked her—and was already acting like he was finished with his project as he worked on finishing a pile of unopened sweets on his lap.

She chucked the Gobstone that she'd been fiddling with at his head, because the slimy git still looked awfully smug.

"You'll see. I'm going to ace this project with flying colors. And then I'll kick that Weasley to the curb. This'll be the only good thing that'll ever happen to him in his entire life."

"The grade or you kicking him to the curb?" Geoffrey rubbed his chin pensively. "I wouldn't be surprised if Weasley's got a couple fantasies up that weasel nose of his about your foot in his arse."

Another Gobstone hit Geoffrey.

"The grade, dimwit."

 **※**

"Oi, Malfoy!"

Weasley caught up to her in the long hallway. He must have been searching for her for a while, judging by the fact that his usual mates weren't with him and that he was panting relentlessly. He doubled over, hands propped up on his knees so he could take a breather before he straightened.

Geoffrey stepped away from Weasley in revulsion, as did the other two Slytherins they had been studying with. "Great Salazar, he's sweating like an erumpant."

"It's about the project."

She arched an eyebrow. "And it couldn't wait until our next meeting?"

A large grin broke out on his freckled face and he shook his head. "I know when the next electrical storm is going to be."

Forgetting Geoffrey's existence momentarily, her eyes widened and she asked in pleased surprise, "You _do_?"

The one problem they had encountered was predicting the timing of an electrical storm before and during which they had to recite the proper incantation to provoke the success of the transformation. Being students, they didn't have access to the proper materials the commonized Animagi transformation instructions used, since the instructions were written for witches and wizards who had already graduated and knew how to go about getting their hands on the resources.

A proud look crossed Weasley's face when he saw her reaction and he shoved a piece of paper in front of her. "It's a thing my dad told me about. It's how the Muggles predict weather. Through calculations and all. Took me a while to get in touch with the right Muggles but I got the numbers."

She recoiled, her hand centimeters away from touching the proffered sheet, and she was suddenly all too aware of her Housemates' gazes on her. Weasley's smile slowly faded and he lowered his arm when he saw that she would not take the paper.

She met his eyes.

The unexpected disappointment she found in them flooded her with a foreign, unpleasant feeling, though it bewildered her to no end. Why was he acting like he had expected something else from her? And why the _hell_ should she care about what a _Weasley_...a _blood traitor_...thought?

Weasley's jaw tightened and he gave her a hard look, so out of place on his usually carefree face, as his arm lowered. "Tell me, Malfoy, what exactly have you got against Muggles? You think you're better than them, is that it? They've figured out _extraordinary_ things, ways to predict weather without magic, to _live_ without magic, and you're going to stand there and reject this perfectly good way of going about doing it because of your outdated, supremacist views?"

When she didn't reply, he just shook his head and walked away, leaving her behind speechless, her Slytherin classmates' words of what a _weasel_ the redhead was and how he was undeserving of her as a partner serving no purpose in comforting her at all. Her classmates' words fell on deaf ears, as she was paying them no attention, instead focusing on the fact that someone had just so strongly called out the beliefs she had grown up with.

Weasley's words stayed with her for the rest of the day.

 **※**

She found him in the library that weekend.

His head hung low over the essay he was working on, red hair falling in his eyes, but once she pulled out the chair next to him, his head snapped up and he stared up at her with questioning eyes.

Considering the implications of what she was doing, she ground her jaw momentarily before placing her hand, palm facing up, in the space between them.

"Let me see those numbers."

His face lit up.

 **※**

Her Sugar Quill had been reduced to a tiny stub as she worked. She was concentrating over the textbook while chewing furiously on the remnants of the sweet. The mandrake leaf was nestled securely under her tongue but she barely noticed its presence anymore, so used to keeping it out of the way was she.

 _"A witch or wizard must keep a single mandrake leaf in their mouth for an entire month (from full moon to full moon). If the leaf is removed or swallowed, the witch or wizard will have to start over again. At the next visible full moon (if the night happens to be cloudy one will have to start over), the wizard must spit the leaf in a phial within range of the moon's pure rays. To the moon-struck phial, the wizard or witch must add one of their own hairs, a silver teaspoon of dew that has not seen sunlight or been touched by human feet for seven days, and the chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawk Moth. The mixture must be put in a quiet, dark place and be in any way disturbed._

 _The next thing that must happen is for the wizard to wait for an electrical storm, whenever that might be. During this waiting period the wizard must, at sunrise and sundown without fail, chant the incantation_ Amato Animo Animato Animagus _with the tip of their wand placed over the heart. When, at last, there is a lightening storm, the wizard ought to recite the incantation one final time, and then drink the potion."_

She twisted her fingers in her hair out of frustration. The technicalities on the basic requirements for the transformation were all there, complete with diagrams and all, but that wasn't the problem. It was the mental skill required for transforming that went unmentioned in the texts she found. Most Animagi were trained by someone more proficient in Transfiguration. To figure out by oneself how to properly harness the necessary skill and concepts to undergo the transformation was a much more arduous task.

"Malfoy."

She looked up to see Weasley standing there awkwardly, bag slung over one shoulder. He continued, "It's about the project."

"What about it?"

"I was having trouble with some concepts on the essay McGonagall assigned yesterday. It's got ideas similar to the techniques for Animagi and I was wondering if you'd help out...y'know, being top in our year and all."

Adjusting the strap on his shoulder, Weasley gazed above her head, eyes periodically flickering down to her face to gauge her reaction.

She stared at him for a long while before tilting her chin towards the empty chair in front of her.

He grinned broadly.

 **※**

"He's beautiful." She breathed and her fingers fluttered slightly before coming to a rest on the baby thestral's snout. The small animal pushed into her hand further, soft huffs brushing against her palm as his wings beat lightly against his sides.

"Aye." Hagrid agreed gruffly. He fished a large slab of raw meat out of his coat pocket— _Salazar_ , had the man been carrying that around with him all day?—and handed it to her. "Wanna feed him? He'll need all the nourishment he can get to heal that ankle of his."

"Of course." She took the offered meat and knelt down so she was eye level with the thestral. The small animal quickly devoured the meat presented to him and once he was finished, looked up at her expectantly. She couldn't help the adoring smile that broke out on her face. "You're a hungry little one, aren't you?"

"Who did yeh see?"

She stilled at Hagrid's question. It had taken her a while to open up to the Hogwarts groundskeeper, partly due to the fact that if her father ever found out about her friendship with the half-giant, Hagrid might lose his job. But the man had caught her snooping around the forest when she'd been a stupid, careless second-year, and after spinning an intricate web of lies that she'd been sure Hagrid hadn't believed a word of, the real reason she'd come out at the middle of the night had come trotting out of the darkness to save her from her poorly woven web of lies. She'd cursed Firenze for revealing her midnight jaunts out to the forest to talk to him, but Hagrid's eyes had widened with such wonder and happiness that the centaur had found another friend, she hadn't had the heart to continue lying. She'd visited Hagrid's hut every chance she had since then, mostly because the man wouldn't accept her reasons for refusing to associate with him. And partly because Hagrid could get his hands on the most beautiful of creatures that she's ever seen.

 _"I'd like to see yer father_ try _to get me sacked!"_ Hagrid had puffed out. Her lips twitched when she recalled the memory.

She was glad though, that he had been persistent, because he had made things infinitely easier for her...for her to be able to enjoy spending time with all sorts of creatures without the cloak and dagger she had so carefully constructed for herself in regards to all her other relationships. She'd never admit it, but she thought of Hagrid as a good friend, perhaps one of her best—besides the nuisance Geoffrey of course, though the fellow Slytherin knew nothing of her hidden hobbies—even if she had made him swear never to tell a soul about their relationship or her...unusual activities.

She hesitated before allowing herself to open up a little more to the gentle giant.

Stroking the thestral's snout softly, she replied, "I'm not sure. It was a couple. Death Eater attack in Diagon Alley. They were right in front of me."

It wasn't a pleasant memory. Far from it, because the aftermath had been...monumental. Her mother had been beside herself with rage when she'd found out her husband had forgotten to tell her about the Death Eaters' plan, putting both female Malfoys in the crossfires of the curses. The miscommunication between her mother and father had caused a rift in their marriage, one that hadn't changed even when her little brother had been born.

She looked up when silence settled over the two like a heavy cloud. Hagrid was looking down at her sadly, understanding glimmering in the back of his eyes. Her throat closed up but she stood up quickly and brushed off her robes.

"You'll tell me if you get any other critters?"

He nodded his head, probably realizing that she no longer wanted to talk about the deaths she had witnessed, and gave her a toothy grin. "Of course. I'm expecting a baby dragon sometime at the end of the year."

Her jaw dropped in awe. "But _Hagrid_! That's not... _legal_ , is it?"

He just winked and put a finger over his mouth. "A secret fer a secret, eh, Malfoy? I trust you'll keep it to yerself?"

She twisted her face in bewilderment and stared up the back path at his hut.

"Hagrid. You realize you live in a wooden house?"

 **※**

"Malfoy!"

This time it was after a Quidditch match. She was on her way back, robes wrapped tightly around her in an attempt to block out the autumn chill. The rest of her House had already rushed down to the dungeons where she would no doubt find the celebration party in full swing when she arrived. But she took her time, because she needed a break from the drunken arse-kissing she was doomed to face with once she arrived at the party.

"It's about the project."

He was still in his crimson and gold Quidditch robes as he began to stride alongside her. She watched him quietly out of the corner of her eye, noting the way his red hair fell in his eyes and the smattering of freckles across his cheekbones. She cursed herself for it, but the brief thought that Weasley was actually pretty good-looking— _how had she not noticed it before—_ flashed through her mind. Maybe it was the Quidditch robes. It must be. It _had_ to be. She always did have a thing for boys in Quidditch uniforms.

She turned to him, irritated—mostly out of annoyance for her bewildering thoughts about Weasley's appearance—when he didn't say anything. "The _project_ , Weasley?"

He started. "Ah. I wanted to ask how's it coming along? One more week left until we can spit these leaves out, eh?"

Her forehead creased when she realized he had nothing actually substantial about the project to discuss, but she nodded anyways.

"It's going well. Still got my leaf." She gestured to her mouth. "You?"

He mimicked her motion and made a sound of agreement. "Still there."

She bobbed her head in acknowledgement and the two fell into a comfortable silence as they walked, until Weasley insisted on speaking again.

"So the game was rubbish."

A mixture of a laugh and scoff escaped her throat and she sneered. "Naturally it would have been for you. Gryffindor lost."

"We'll beat you next time." He grinned crookedly, blue eyes twinkling with good-natured competitiveness.

She let out a chuckle, much to her own surprise. "Dream on, Weasley."

"So..." Turning to face her, he stepped closer. _Far_ too closely for her comfort, but she tried not to think about how she could feel his body heat or how she could see his Adam's apple bobbing as he spoke, or how _good_ he smelled, or...what the _fuck_? She blinked and cleared her throat, looking away and squinting as if focusing on something far off in the distance.

"What's the plan for meeting up for the full moon?" asked Weasley, his fingers scuffing the handle of the broom he held—she noticed it was rather worn—and the thought struck her that he most likely did not have enough money to buy the new model other students had, a new model that the entire Slytherin team had already gotten their hands on. "It's next week."

"The courtyard." She said plainly. "We'll meet there and then head over to the edge of the forest. It's got the best view of the moon so we can get the most ray exposure there."

"Good idea." He grinned and poked her with the ratty Cleansweep he was holding. "You're always a step ahead of the game, Malfoy. Never consider playing Quidditch?"

She was taken aback by his friendly tone.

"No," she said faintly and cleared her throat, voice coming out a little stronger the second time. "I don't like flying."

There was a pause and then Weasley's eyebrows rose. "Could it be...Malfoy...are you afraid of heights?"

The second's worth of hesitation was answer enough for him. An infuriating and _maddening_ smile slowly crept onto his face, one that had her blood pumping faster...with rage, most likely. Cocky bastard.

Scowling, she huffed and quickened her pace, seizing the edge of her cloak to toss it open in a dramatic flourish as they stepped foot in the castle. A laugh came from behind her and she heard hurried footsteps as he easily caught up to her.

"Oh, don't be like that." Weasley swiveled so he was trotting backwards and could study her directly as he spoke. "I'll get you on my broomstick one day."

She came to an abrupt halt in disbelief when she caught the wink he threw at her. Did he just...?

"To show you that flying's not all that bad, of course." His voice was falsely innocent, and he schooled his expression back into a neutral one a little too late.

She narrowed her eyes and her lip curled as she retorted, "Your _broomstick_ doesn't look like much. Seems rather slow, actually. I hardly think it would be able to keep up with _me_."

A stunned expression at the unexpected reply crossed his face and she couldn't help but start to laugh. Weasley's look soon turned to one of indignation and he turned up his nose to sniff, but he couldn't hold back his own amusement and his face broke out into a large grin. "Alright, I'll give you that one."

She smirked victoriously.

They soon reached the end of the hallway and she turned left to head towards the dungeons, he towards the right to return to the Gryffindor tower. Before she could take a single step down the corridor though, Weasley's strong hand clasped her shoulder.

"I'll see you later, Malfoy."

"Yeah." His hand lifted from her shoulder and she watched it as it fell back to his side before he began to stride away, a strange and unfamiliar feeling rising inside her. "See you later, Weasley."

She was still staring off into space even after he'd long disappeared around the corner.

 **※**

It was an innocuous little book.

She bit her lip, eyeing the textbook, her fingers just _itching_ to touch it.

She'd seen it lying about quite a few times, granted, only in the possession of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff Houses of course. But this was the first time she'd seen the book without an owner. Stepping closer, she made sure there was no one in the vicinity before reaching out her hand to pick up the thick volume.

 _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_ by Wilhelm Wigworthy.

She loved to read. There was not a single textbook that she had not already gone through; even most of the seventh-year textbooks were not safe from her eyes. But _this_ book, _this_ one was off-limits. She would never have ever considered touching it before today. Conflict raged through her. It would be suicide to be seen reading this book by anyone. She certainly couldn't bring a copy of this book back of her home. Her father would most likely burn the book and then her with it if she even dared bring a single Muggle-related book into the Malfoy Manor. Unfortunately for her, her curiosity was winning, and she wanted nothing more than to open it and devour the words that lay on the pages in the book.

 _Tell me, Malfoy, what exactly have you got against Muggles?_

Her eyelids fluttered with surprise when Weasley's words came to mind. Her chest tightened with determination.

She sat down at the table, slipping the strap of her bookbag off of her shoulder, and flipped open the cover.

 **※**

Plucking a long strand of hair from her head, she dropped it into the small vial after chewing the mandrake leaf a few extra times and spitting it out into the tiny container. Weasley did the same, giving his bottle a hard shake and holding it up to peer at it.

The moonlight filtered down in soft waves and cast a silver glow over the two as they waited near the edge of the forest for the moon to do its thing, dark robes wrapped tightly around themselves to block out the bite of the evening chill.

She stared glumly down at the vial. She had expected something more _magical_ , but all she got was a shiny vial that didn't look all too special. They stood in silence, mixing and holding their respective vials up to the light occasionally.

"Malfoy."

She imitated his tone. "Weasley."

"You know...you're alright."

It was the farthest thing from what she had expected him to say and her eyebrows drifted up so high she swore they were inches away from floating away forever. "Excuse me?"

"I mean," he clarified. "What people say about you...well, the other Houses besides your own, of course. You're a Malfoy. You're pureblood royalty. They make you out to be this cold and proud and heartless and _untouchable_ person."

Her forehead creased and for some reason, her heart sank when he began to speak about what she knew all too well, but had never actually heard out loud. Stiffening, she lifted her chin to stare challengingly at the Gryffindor, daring him to continue.

Seeing her reaction, he quickly jumped in and tried to remedy things. " _What I'm_ _saying_ , is that those rumors are utter rubbish. You're alright. You're not bad to be around."

Trying to break the awkward silence that settled around them, she tucked her vial into her pocket and said, "We're done for now. Let's head back."

They walked back in silence. Her eyes darted towards him ever so often, but for the first time in her life, she didn't know what to say, how to respond to Weasley's astonishingly honest declaration that he didn't mind being friends with a Malfoy, someone who belonged to a family on a completely different side of the wizarding world spectrum.

When the two finally reached the castle, Weasley once again planted a hand on her shoulder and said farewell.

Thoughts swirling around in her head, she watched Weasley leave, robes billowing out gracefully behind him, and before she could stop herself, called out, "Weasley."

He turned, head slanting in question.

"You..." The words were a struggle to get out, and every single instinct in her body screamed to do otherwise. "You..."

"You're...not bad to be around either, Weasley."

She was gone before he could open his mouth to reply.

 **※**

"What's all that about?" Martin Bulstrode dropped down next to her without invitation. She shifted to the side, unimpressed by the slimy arrogance just rolling in waves off him. Shrugging, she feigned ignorance but looked towards the Gryffindor table anyways, where the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team and many other Houses' members, sans Slytherin of course, were huddled.

None of the students bothered keeping their voices down but she was at far enough of a distance that she could only pick up some of what the commotion was about—even though she knew exactly what it was about.

"What on earth—"

"Weasley, _how_ did you—"

"— _wicked_ —"

"—a Starsweeper _XV_ —"

"—not even available to the public yet, how'd you—"

"These are _professional_ brooms—"

"Slytherins are going to bite the _dust_ with their pathetic—"

She lifted her goblet of tea to her lips to conceal the smirk that flickered over her delicate features when the students shifted and she caught a glimpse of Weasley's starstruck expression as he ran his hands reverently over the sleek broomstick.

It hadn't been easy, mind, to get the newest Starsweeper that hadn't even been released in Europe, but she had her ways. And seeing the expression on Weasley's face...it had been worth the trouble. The idea had come to mind when she'd noticed his near-useless Cleansweep weeks ago, and Great Salazar, she didn't know _why_ —Gryffindor _was_ Slytherin's fiercest rival in every way possible, especially Quidditch—but the urge to give him this one thing had been undeniable, only strengthened by his quiet words under the full moon all those days ago. He had been _kind_ , and it had struck her that night...so different from what she was used to, his kindness had been _real_.

Bulstrode blanched. " _Weasley_? Weasley got his grubby hands on the Starsweeper XV? His family doesn't even have enough money to put decent clothes on their backs how did that scum— _ouch_ , what the fuck?!"

"Oh, my apologies." She deadpanned, retracting her fork from where it had stabbed his hand. "I was going for the sausages, I do hope I didn't break the skin."

She had, in fact, broken the skin, much to her delight.

Bulstrode just shot her a livid look and nursed his bleeding hand, but didn't dare say a thing.

Rising from the table, she daintily patted at her lips with a napkin before tossing it down and striding out, smiling as she heard Weasley's confused but ecstatic comments about his new broom.

She was unaware of the set of blue eyes that followed her exit.

 **※**

Something dropped down at the heavy wooden desk she was studying at and she lifted her head, irritation flooding her eyes, about to reprimand whoever had dared to disturb her peace.

She tried to ignore the warm thrill that shot through her when she saw Weasley sitting in front of her, a crooked grin dancing across his face.

"It's about the project."

She nodded in acknowledgement, far too used to his spoken reason for appearing in front of her, however unrelated to what his actual purpose was, but she no longer noticed that or that only half of the time they spent together was actually for the class project. It was...comfortable, working with Weasley, even if sometimes they didn't speak a word to each other, the two often ending up working on different things—she on other assignments and he on reading up on magical creatures or occasionally drawing up Quidditch plans for the Gryffindor team.

Her brow crinkled furiously as she spotted a mistake in the calculation she had just completed. She hissed through her teeth and dug around in her bag sitting next to her for a new piece of parchment.

"Hogsmeade with me next weekend, yeah?"

The bag she was hunting around in slipped through her fingers and toppled onto the floor, contents spilling out everywhere.

" _Excuse_ _me_?" She blurted out. Her bag was left unattended, attention drawn back to the redhead seated in front of her. His grin only widened, the cocky bastard.

"Hogsmeade." He repeated and gestured at her. "You and me. Next weekend?"

So stunned was she that no sarcastic remark or witty comeback—it _had_ to be a joke—came out of her mouth. Instead, she could only breathe out, " _What_?"

Lifting a hand to ruffle the unruly red hair on his head, he laughed and she swore she heard a hint of uncertainty to it. "Er...well I was thinking that maybe we could take a break from all the work we've been doing and actually have a little bit of fun while we're at it. So I was thinking we could just get the more trivial measurement stuff done on the weekends and practice transforming more during school nights. I've noticed that you don't really go out to Hogsmeade anyways, and I reckon it'd be a good change."

She picked up her bag and cleared her throat, trying to preoccupy herself with something to delay giving an answer to him. She wanted to bite out a snappish response on pure Slytherin instinct, but then she looked into his eyes and saw _sincerity_ , and a _lack_ of any external motive, and she realized she couldn't bring herself to pretend to be disgusted by his question.

"Sure."

There was that familiar, sunny grin on his face again, one now accompanied by a quickening of her heartbeat.

 **※**

Just like that, their routine changed. They no longer spent long nights in the library exhausting themselves with recording progress. Instead, they touched up on the written part of their assignments some weekends at Hogsmeade over warm butterbeer and increased practice during their free time on school nights.

She hated that he was right, but it really _was_ a good change from what they had been doing, which had her wanting to tear out her hair from how boring it got sometimes. And she _loathed_ to admit that she actually came to _enjoy_ his company.

It wasn't long before the other Slytherins noticed and turned up their noses at what she spent some of her weekends doing.

 _"Is the bastard...blackmailing you or something?"_ Geoffrey had worded oh-so tactfully.

She'd shot him a look of contempt that would have made her father proud and he had backed off, hands raised, but his eyes were careful and calculating.

 **※**

Winter break came and went.

It was a drab and uninteresting two weeks at home with her family, and she found herself almost _missing_ Weasley's jokes and carefree laughter, however irritating they might be, especially when they resulted in both of them getting kicked out of the library.

There was a small reprieve in the form of her little brother, Draco, who was simply adorable, despite the niggling feeling she got in the back of her mind that he was going to grow to be the most spoiled of brats. He was always wanting, chubby little fingers grasping at anything that came into his sight. Her long, silver hair was of particular interest to him and he clutched at it constantly, even putting it in his mouth on several occasions.

She didn't mind, though.

It relaxed her, to carry Draco around and play with him whenever the words of her father grew to be too stifling, as it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore and avoid the vitriol that her father spewed.

Her last dinner back with her family before she was to head back to Hogwarts only made her all too aware of the dangerous politics that was slowly building back up into the wizarding world.

"I hear," her father began, steepling his fingers seriously. "That you have been spending time with...one of the _Weasley_ boys."

She met his gaze evenly and replied smoothly, "For a school project, Father. Professor McGonagall assigned him to me for a partner."

He scrutinized her but didn't speak for a long moment, and the unease in her grew. The only noise in the room came from Draco clinking his silverware together, his small and pudgy face screwed up in concentration as though he were trying to figure out the world's greatest problem.

"Let me amend my statement. I hear you have been spending more time than... _necessary_...with one of the Weasley boys."

She scoffed, her next words more cutting. "And who has been feeding you this information? How would they know what is ' _too much time'_ for a project? Perhaps you shouldn't believe everything your _sycophants_ say."

Her mother rested her hand on her arm in warning. "Dear..."

Her grip tightened on her fork and she clipped, "No, Mother, if he's going to insist on spying on me at school, then he should at least do it properly."

Having had enough, she stood up, relinquishing the silverware with a clatter and muttering, "May I be excused?"

She was given no response, but turned to leave anyway, an indescribable feeling roaring in her ears.

"Tread carefully, daughter."

She stilled, feeling her father's gaze bearing into her back.

"Our family has a reputation to uphold. The Dark Lord will return, and when he does, he will not hesitate to eliminate those who do not support blood purity. You would do well to not make him think otherwise of you. That means cutting off association with blood traitors who will most certainly be those among the targeted."

She said nothing, giving no indication that she had heard him. She would pay for her defiance later on, but in that moment, there was nothing more she needed than to get out of there.

When she reached the top of the grand staircase, she released the breath she didn't know she had been holding. She inhaled shakily, and her hand came up to claw at her chest as though it could still the alarmingly quick beat of her heart. For the first time, her father's words had sparked...terror within her. Not because she feared for her own life, but because of his not-so-subtle hint that Weasley, would be among those the Dark Lord aimed to... _kill_.

Why did...she had never _cared_ like this before.

Before today, she wouldn't have given a damn about others.

Before today, she wouldn't have felt so weak, so _helpless_ in the face of her father's threats.

 _Why did she care so much?_

A soft ' _pop_ ' drew her attention away from her morbid thoughts and she looked down to see a small, watery-eyed elf staring up at her in concern.

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.

"I'm fine, Dobby." Laying a hand on the house-elf's head, she gave him the strongest smile she could muster up. "I'm fine."

 **※**

The letter from Hagrid arrived mid-January. It was a cryptic note in extremely bad handwriting, one that no one else would have understood but her.

 _Got the package. — H_

She wasted no time at all in ditching her table after dinner and hurrying out of the castle towards Hagrid's hut. A baby dragon. Even with all her family's wealth, she'd never seen one up close, and she wasn't about to pass up the opportunity now. And she would be lying if she said she didn't need something to distract her from her disaster of a winter break.

She burst into Hagrid's hut breathlessly. "Where is she?"

Hagrid grinned at her excitement and beckoned her over with a massive hand. "Right 'ere. Name's Lyra."

A small dragon, barely bigger than her forearm, was nestled comfortably on a pile of blankets on Hagrid's wooden dining table. She shot it a look of unease but Hagrid seemed to sense her thoughts and reassured, "It's been fireproofed."

Worries put to rest, she moved towards the dragon, an wonderstruck feeling swelling in her chest. The creature was beautiful. She reached out a hand but before she could touch the soft skin on the baby dragon's head, the door to Hagrid's hut was flung open. The dragon squealed in shock, small and leathery wings beating ineffectively, only serving to send the small animal back down on her haunches.

She whirled around, wand out and pointed at the entrance.

"Hagrid! Where is..." The intruder stared at her, the exclamation turning into a question when he registered who else was in the room. "...Malfoy?"

It took her a while to comprehend the identity of the boy standing in the doorway, and when she finally did, she froze with dread, though she slowly turned to give Hagrid a look of betrayal. The half-giant looked befuddled at first, and then a guilty look crossed over his face as he realized his mistake.

"Oh Merlin...Malfoy..I...I fergot that both you and Weasley were coming over tonight..." Hagrid's face was rapidly turning red, and his eyes darted around as though he were trying his damndest to figure out a way out of this awkward situation.

She shut her eyes in frustration and pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "Hagrid..."

"It's all right!" The half-giant blustered, though his words seemed only to convince himself more than her. "Malfoy...'e won't tell anyone! You won't tell anyone, will you Charlie?"

"Er..." Weasley was at a loss for what to say, but he made his way into the hut nonetheless. "Tell anyone what?"

"Why that Miss Malfoy 'ere is quite like you, Charlie, she loves anything to do with magical critters, really, comes out 'ere nearly every night to—"

"Hagrid!" She interjected, exasperated that the big man was so easily giving away her secrets.

Weasley's expression was somehow unsurprised, now that he had gotten over the shock of running into her at Hagrid's hut. "You're here to see the dragon too?"

"So what if I am?" She shot back defensively, wand still pointed towards him. Hagrid held up his massive hands, edging towards them, probably worried a fight would break out.

"So...nothing." Weasley replied, eyeing the tip of her wand carefully. "I'm here to see her too."

Without tearing his gaze from her, he turned to the half-giant and asked, "Er...Hagrid, you do know that you've got a couple doxies running rampant in the front yard, right? Terrorizing those crups you got last month."

"What!" Hagrid nearly flattened the sixth-year Gryffindor as he barreled out of the hut, only halting briefly to point warningly at her and Weasley. "Now I understand yeh ain't the best of friends, but there's a very small and possibly dangerous"—she gave a great big snort at the understatement, earning an irritated look from the half-giant—"creature on the table and yeh better get along long enough for me to get back. Don't cause any trouble."

A stillness fell over the two when the door swung shut, only broken by Hagrid's occasional swearing from outside.

"I won't tell anyone, you know?"

She responded sharply, "What?"

"You're afraid I'll tell people about your...hobby. I won't." He attempted a grin, but it was weak, probably because her wand was still pointed right between his eyes.

Her eyes narrowed and she challenged, "What do you want from me?"

Weasley looked at her in bewilderment. "Want...I don't _want_ anything from you, Malfoy. You're my friend."

Her wand arm fell back to her side as she stared at him in stunned silence. _Friend_ , he'd said.

"I'm not going to tell anyone about what you choose to do in your free time. That's yours and yours alone," he continued, and a half-smile crooked up on his face.

They watched the creature in silence, and soon she reached out to tickle the baby dragon under the chin. It was peaceful and soothing, and touching the creature managed to smooth over the apprehension that had built up inside her ever since Weasley had entered the hut.

"I know the feeling."

"What?" Her forehead creased in confusion and she withdrew her hand,though her gaze remained on the dragon.

"The feeling that creatures might understand you better than people do."

Her head snapped up towards Weasley and her eyes were guarded, searching his for any hint of insincerity, of malice. She found none.

"Weasley..."

He shrugged and ignored the warning in her voice, instead choosing to look at Lyra. "And who's to say otherwise? They're beautiful and intelligent."

The words resounded with her and a powerful emotion swelled up inside her. She cursed herself for feeling... _feeling_ in front of Weasley. A _blood traitor_. Her father's words came back to haunt her in full force. She was a Malfoy. She was _better_ than him. She ran it through her mind again and again until she almost convinced herself, but his next words blew her attempts away effortlessly.

"And they don't see blood. Muggleborns, halfbloods, purebloods. Doesn't mean a thing to them." Shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, she couldn't tear her eyes away from his blue irises when they deepened. "Just like how I don't think it means a thing to you either."

Her eyes widened in surprise, but words came out of her mouth in an instinctive sneer before she could stop them, "And how would _you_ know that, _Weasley_?"

"You pretend to care." he said honestly, ignoring the tone of her voice. "You cover everything up with a hard exterior, so you won't be found out. So people won't know that you are the _opposite_ of everything they expect you to be. But I think I can see you. The real you. And if only more people took the time to know you, I'm sure they would think differently of you."

She was rendered speechless for the thousandth time that night. He...understood her. _Charlie Weasley_ understood her. Not her family, not Geoffrey, but _Weasley_.

He lowered himself into the seat next to her. Smiling, he stuck out a hand and began to stroke Lyra's throat softly. A low, pleased rumble emanated from the dragon's throat as she leaned into Weasley's touch.

"You don't have to be afraid of what you love, Malfoy."

 **※**

It was a Slytherin first-year that had alerted her of the commotion going on in the hallway. She wasn't a prefect, but the small boy had probably only been looking for an upperclassman for help, judging by the panicked look on his face.

She rounded the corner and sighed when she was greeted by the sight of three Slytherin fourth-years towering over a lone Gryffindor. Their wands were all out, and from the pus spurting from the Gryffindor's nose, she gathered that the Slytherins were probably winning.

She pulled her own wand from her robes and announced clearly, " _Finite Incantatem_."

The flow of pus instantly ceased, and the Gryffindor hastily wiped it away on his robes. She grimaced in disgust, but turned her eyes on the perpetrators, who wheeled around in fury, searching for the source of the interruption. When they saw her, however, all three of them stiffened.

"Malfoy." One of them said hesitantly.

"Congratulations," she said sardonically. "That is indeed my name. Care to explain yourselves?"

The boy in the middle stepped forward, sneering. "This Mudblood was—"

"Did he attack you?"

"Pardon?" The three Slytherins exchanged confused glances. "Well...no but—"

"Did he threaten you?"

"No, but—"

She stepped closer, and though she was shorter than boy she assumed to be the ringleader, she was unafraid. Nobody from her own House would dare lay a hand on her. "Then you have no excuse for causing this ruckus and putting our House at risk for losing points. You're lucky I caught you instead of a prefect or worse, a _professor_."

"But the _Mudblood_ —"

There was a _bang!_ and the boy who had spoken was flung backwards. She strode forward, tucking her wand in her robes and seizing the front of the boy's.

"Shut up." She seethed. "I don't want to hear excuses. You have five seconds to scram or I will be extremely displeased. Do you _want_ me to report you to your parents for your inappropriate conduct? I assure you, I can be _very_ convincing when I want something done my way."

Her dangerous coo must have frightened her Housemate sufficiently, because his face turned white as a sheet and he slipped out of her grasp, motioning for his mates to retreat. She watched as they darted off, before turning back to the Gryffindor still pressed up against the wall, who hadn't spoken a word. There was gratitude in his eyes and he opened his mouth, but she cut him off roughly, "You too. Get out of here."

His mouth snapped shut and he nodded.

She turned to leave, but a timid voice halted her in her tracks.

"Thank you...Malfoy."

Looking over he shoulder, she saw that the fourth-year still hadn't left. She dipped her head in acknowledgement before turning the corner in a swirl of robes and disappearing from the Gryffindor's sight.

 **※**

Wind whipped through their hair and battered their bundled up forms as they tread through the mud miserably. The electrical storm Weasley had predicted was an absolute monster, and she had given him shit, minutes before they left the castle, for predicting possibly the worst storm that they would see this whole year.

She had to admit, however, that it was absolutely invigorating. Her annoyance at Weasley, at the weather, quickly disappeared when a particularly strong wind blasted her directly in the face. The cold shock that pulsated through her awoke every nerve in her body, and suddenly she was laughing, shaking herself free from the confines of her robes, tilting her chin towards the sky. The cold rain splattered on her face messily and slid down her lips easily, joining the rest of the droplets on the ground. She spread her arms. Even though the wind's force was enough to knock her over, there was an unusual beauty to nature's sheer violence.

Weasley seized her hand, dragging her towards him when a particularly large piece of tree trunk came hurtling in her direction.

"Careful!" He shouted, struggling to be heard over the howl of the wind.

He didn't release her arm, even after the wind had died down a little.

She was suddenly all too aware of Weasley, of his proximity to her. She could feel _everything_ , his breaths on her face, how warm his hand on her wrist was, how warm his _body_ was. Looking up, she found him staring down at her. The flashes of lightning illuminated his face occasionally and she noticed how red his hair was, how _blue_ his eyes were. Weasley's head tilted and her breath caught in her throat when he leaned down the slightest bit, as if...he were about to _kiss_ her.

But then the screaming of the wind picked up again and a boom of thunder distracted both of them from that moment of calm.

"Come on," she said. Slipping her hand into his, she pulled him towards the clearing. "Let's do the incantation."

"Yeah." His fingers tightened around hers as together they fought their way to their destination. "Let's."

 **※**

The classroom they had chosen to practice in was devoid of paintings for good reason. She had no desire to be interrupted constantly by nosy, doddering old fools who would no doubt gossip very loudly about how the feat they were trying to undertake was a foolish one.

"Come on." She murmured, forehead creasing in concentration. The skin on the back of her hand was turning white from how hard she was gripping the edge of the table. "Come on."

A shiver coursed through her when two strong hands rested on her shoulders. She could feel Weasley's breath brush the side of her cheek as he said, " _Relax_. You can't be all wound up when you're trying to do it. Trust me."

She summoned up the most baleful glare she could and directed it at him. Most of it was from jealousy, granted, since she still couldn't believe that _Weasley_ of all people had achieved what so few people could—become an Animagus with little to no help at all. The fact that he had done it before her was mind-boggling. So here she was, fuming in silence, though it probably wasn't helping her effort in transforming at all.

And then she felt the most peculiar sensation, a _tugging_ in the back of her mind, as though she were no longer in her own body, and yet...and yet she could feel everything. Her senses sharpened, her auditory perception the first to change. She could hear everything, from Weasley's breathing to the squeaks of shoes belonging to students up after curfew to even the faint noises of Hagrid's animals outside the castle that came from the propped open window. Her vision was the last to sharpen, and the whole world, that had grown so much bigger, was so much clearer too now.

"Well hello there." Weasley bent down on one knee, so that he was closer to her level. His hand reached out tentatively, and when he saw she didn't move away, touched her head, caressing it with the gentlest of strokes. "You're a beautiful creature, you."

There was a flutter down in her abdomen but she attributed it to the unfamiliarity of this form.

"Ironic, isn't it?" The Gryffindor's lips were twitching, though for what reason she could not fathom.

Unable to ask what he meant by that, she cocked her head in question.

Weasley's eyes were mischievous as he teased, "You're afraid of heights. And now look at you... _queen_ of the birds. To be more precise, quite the magnificent hawk. I dunno what species you are, though."

There was a ringing in her ears.

A bird?

She was a _bird_?

She nearly passed out.

Great Salazar, that meant she would need to _fly_. It certainly wouldn't bode well for an Animagus capable of flight to just _walk_ around for the rest of their life.

Weasley was still grinning amusedly, so she mustered up the most irritable look her new form could pull off and tried to sweep his hand off where it rested on her head. Forgetting that she was no longer a human and no longer had _arms_ , the movement of her right wing flinging open unbalanced her instead, and she fell to the ground in an unceremonious heap.

Weasley couldn't suppress the chuckles that escaped him and stood up when she scrambled up and puffed out her chest indignantly, shifting from claw to claw to indicate her intentions.

She transformed back with a gasp and caught herself as she stumbled forward, whirling around to face Weasley. Forgetting her irritation at her partner's teasing, she couldn't suppress the excitement that burst out of her.

"I did it!" She was unable to help the beam that broke out on her face.

"You did it." Weasley mirrored her smile and leaned forward on one of the desks, arms slung over it casually as he watched her.

Small pants escaped her as she held her project partner's gaze, the transformation having been quite taxing both physically and mentally. It didn't matter though, because it would only get easier from then on with more practice. The biggest hurdle was the first transfiguration.

The adrenaline that was rushing through her from her very first transformation had yet to die down, and so she blamed it for the very stupid, very foolish, and most _thick-headed_ thing she had ever done.

She leaned over and kissed him.

Weasley's lips were surprisingly soft. She could taste the faintest hints of the peppermint gum he'd been chewing earlier, but his body quickly stiffened with shock as he recoiled, forcing the kiss to break apart when he stepped backwards. Heat rushed to her cheeks in humiliation—she couldn't _believe_ that she had just _done_ that, kissed a _Weasley_ and been _rejected_ nonetheless—and she quickly began to gather her things, clearing her throat as she opened her mouth to fire off an excuse. Before she could even finish putting the first book back into her schoolbag, Weasley jolted forward and around the desk he'd been leaning on. In a flash, he was standing next to her.

"Malfoy."

Avoiding the urge to look at him, she opened her mouth to say that it had been a joke, that she was done with him now that the project was more or less finished—a lie, something, _anything_ to kill the budding realization that she had actually _enjoyed_ the kiss and that the fluttering in her chest every time she looked at him _wasn't_ a coincidence. Anything to evade the niggling feeling in the back of her mind that she might actually _like_ Weasley. It couldn't happen. She was a Malfoy, through and through.

Nothing came out of her mouth. She never had the chance. Because before she knew it, he was standing directly in her path, looming over her.

She felt a strong grip around her wrist and then it was unavoidable; she only caught a glimpse of his striking blue eyes before his lips were on hers this time. He kissed her...and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, hard and fast all at the same time, comforting in ways that words failed to be, exhilarating in every way possible. Their breaths mingled, his hand framing her jaw, thumb caressing her cheek.

Her mind was slowly beginning to clear, though she still couldn't fathom the fact that this was happening. She was kissing _Weasley. Again._ And there would probably be consequences and she was probably going to regret this for a very long time but _at that moment_ , for the _life_ of her, she couldn't bring herself to care. The heat that rose in her this time around wasn't out of shame. It was a pleasant feeling, one that she thought she could get quite used to.

Her arms wound around his neck as his hands moved to clasp at the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. Her curves fit into his angles in all the right places, as if they were _made_ for each other and it was then that she managed to completely forget about their assignment, about why they were in this classroom again—was it something related to a class they shared?—all she knew was that Weasley's touch felt... _good_. It was _addicting_.

Weasley took a step forward as if to press closer than he was already, but the stance they were in left no room for even the slightest movement and she stumbled backwards, her bum hitting the desk behind her. She sat down on it with a huff, and from the rush of air that brushed her lips, she could tell that he was amused. Git. His right hand slipped from the small of her back to hook under one of her knees, bringing it up to his hip with a sharp jerk. She hooked it around his waist, twisting her hands in his hair and arching her chest into his.

Weasley's eyes were unfocused, staring at her in a daze when they finally pulled apart for air. "Blimey..."

His cheeks were flushed and hair untidy, and he had lost absolutely all of his usual composure. So had she, for that matter, but that was the farthest thing from her mind. She studied Weasley, hands coming up slowly to frame his face, and a smile crossed hers, so wide and _real_ that she felt her cheeks beginning to hurt.

There was a blissful quiet, one only broken when he opened his mouth.

"Does this mean I can finally get you on my broomstick?"

She smacked his arm and shot Weasley an impressive glare, the smile now gone from her face.

"Ouch! I was _obviously_ talking about my Starsweeper." His grin said otherwise and he shifted his arm away, rubbing it petulantly, though he remained standing between her legs. "You know, the one you got me."

Breath catching in her throat, she recoiled in surprise. "What...how did you know?"

He lifted his eyes to meet hers and leaned forward, lips hovering over hers as he spoke, "You're not that hard to read, Malfoy."

His arms encircled her, drawing her towards him again, and it was _magical_ , the way his lips collided with hers.

 **※**

She was _alive_.

For the first time in a long time, there was no burden on her shoulders. She felt... _free_.

Their stolen kisses, hidden glances, secret meetings almost seemed like something out of a poorly-written romance novel, but it didn't matter. His eyes, the warmth of his body, the sound of his _voice_ never failed to make her heart skip a beat every time she looked at him. She wanted to attribute it to the fact that it had been a while since she'd been in a relationship, but she couldn't ignore the fact that he was different. He was different from those occasional fumbling, awkward, and stiff relationships she'd had with other boys before him.

He was _electric_.

And it scared the hell out of her—the things Charlie Weasley made her feel.

But for those single moments when she was with him, she didn't care about who they were, the consequences of getting caught. She didn't notice anything when she was with him. It was just her and _Charlie._

And she was _alive_.

 **※**

When they transformed, she was certain she saw McGonagall's jaw drop.

Ruffling her feathers proudly, she stared haughtily at the rest of the class. Charlie stood next to her in his wolf form. His fur was reddish-brown, though the tint of red was more dominant, mirroring his human hair color.

Flourishing her arms, she took a mock bow, a smooth transition from transforming back into her human form.

"Thank you. The end."

Weasley was much less ostentatious, instead choosing to take a small bow next to her once he'd transformed back, grinning at his shell-shocked Gryffindor classmates staring at him in awe.

"Well." The Transfiguration professor made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. "That was certainly...unexpected. I must admit...no student has ever considered training to become Animagi as an idea for this assignment. I applaud the both of you though, for managing to complete such a difficult task."

She shared a covert smirk with Charlie. Compliments from McGonagall were rare, and this could only mean that they had chosen the right topic.

The professor went on to talk at them briefly about rules and about registering at the Ministry before calling up the next pair.

She took her seat next to Geoffrey and Charlie returned to his usual seat, but as the next group made their way up to the front of the classroom, her gaze turned towards the Gryffindors.

Charlie met her eyes steadily, but when he shifted to look at the next group, a smile blossomed out on his face, and she couldn't help but mirror the expression.

 **※**

"You're shagging Weasley."

She nearly fell out of the armchair when the words came out of Geoffrey's mouth as casually as how one would greet another a good morning. He didn't even glance up at her abrupt movement and hummed to himself, flicking his finger at the board settled on the table between them. The end of the year had come quickly, and the two friends were whiling away the time with a game of chess in the common room, trunks already packed and waiting for the school train to be ready for them.

"Wh...Weas...I'm?!"

"Bishop to F6."

The chess piece sprung to life and clanked its way over to the designated spot.

She opened her mouth wordlessly and snapped it closed when she couldn't find any words at all to say.

Geoffrey look awfully proud as he smirked. "Finally got one over you, have I?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, fingers curling over the corners of the armrests, and she pushed herself up so her face was inches away from her friend's, hissing, "What are you playing at, Farley?"

Geoffrey raised his hands defensively. "Hey, I don't give a damn about who you choose to shag. I was just making an observation. Not everyone's out to get you, Malfoy."

"I'm not shagging Weasley!" She snarled out.

"Uh-huh, sure, darling." Geoffrey dismissed her response and continued, "Listen, I _honestly_ don't care. And I'm not going to be tattling to your father so you can stop looking at me like I _Avada'_ d your favorite crup or something."

She wasn't persuaded, and her distrustful look still remained. He must have taken note of it because he sighed. "Malfoy, you seem happy. You seem happier this year than I've ever seen you before, actually. I'll give it to Weasley, he's done a fantastic job with you."

She glowered at him, but her fingers slowly released their tight grip on the armrests. Her attention turned back onto the chessboard, now a little more convinced that Geoffrey wouldn't sell her out.

"I do have a question, though. Did you really have to pick a Gryffindor?"

 **※**

She didn't think much of Quidditch, but even she couldn't deny the thrill and excitement the World Cup stirred up. This game wasn't the finals, but there was just as much Quidditch fever going around because it was Ireland's National Team versus the American one. Draco was beside himself with glee, prancing around in all the green Quidditch apparel his small body could carry. Her father, as usual, had bought the most pricey tickets out there, in the best seats near the top.

Concern flashed through her when her gaze landed on a certain, suspiciously red-haired family at the end of the walkway. Her assumption was proven correct when her father let out contemptuous noise of disgust next to her.

When Arthur Weasley spotted her father, it was like ten years had been drained from the man. He looked around as though looking for an exit, or just someone to help him out of the inevitable situation he was going to be sucked into.

She turned her eyes away from the Weasley patriarch for a moment to search for Charlie. He was standing behind his mother, one hand settled protectively on her shoulder. He was glaring at her father like all his siblings were, but when he caught her eye, his lips tugged upwards in a imperceptible smile before it quickly vanished as soon as her father spoke. It didn't matter. She had seen it, and she bit her lip to suppress her own smile.

"Weasley." It was more of a sneer than a greeting. Her father, who was taller than the Weasley patriarch, looked down at the other pureblood disdainfully, as if he were just a stain on his shoe that needed to be wiped away. Bugger that, she was pretty sure her father looked at stains on his shoes with more respect than this.

"Lucius." Mr. Weasley greeted cordially, though his expression clearly said he would rather not engage in this conversation and potentially ruin his family's time at the match.

"What a surprise it is to see you here." said her father as he folded his hands over his cane. "Tell me, how are you faring...at the Ministry?"

The way her father bit out the words clearly showed that he held very little regard for Arthur Weasley's position in the Ministry. The Weasley patriarch looked suspicious but he replied, "I'm doing fine, thank you for asking."

"Interesting. We'll have to change that now, don't we?"

Her head snapped up and she stared at her father. What did he mean by that?

Before she could give it any more though, her father's gaudy cane tapped the metal grating they stood on and swept from side to side very quickly as though shooing the Weasley family aside. "I believe your seats are...near the bottom. If you'll excuse us, we must be getting going...we're near the _top_ , you see."

And there it was. It wouldn't be a proper Lucius Malfoy bullying without a remark about his wealth. Guilt flooded her though, when she noticed the furious look in Charlie's eyes. Even though he said he understood her hesitation in revealing to her people their relationship, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that he didn't like her decision, and this was definitely not making things any better. Her father's remarks must have reminded Charlie of just how many purebloods looked down upon his family. She knew the Weasleys' ideas weren't popular with many purebloods, they weren't rich like other families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and they certainly had no power to retaliate against the actions of such powerful people like her father.

As her family passed the Weasleys, she moved her hand inconspicuously to gently brush against his, if only to offer a little comfort. His pinky finger curled around hers for a moment and then the small warmth was gone. When she reached the end of the walkway, she turned her head to glance back at him.

Her heart sank when he didn't do the same.

 **※**

It was the worst argument they'd ever had. From the way it was going, it was shaping up to be the last.

She had quickly found out what her father had meant when he'd said that he was going to change things for Arthur Weasley over the summer. Her father had gotten Charlie's placed on unpaid suspension at the Ministry, for some reason or the other. The reason didn't matter because Lucius Malfoy could get pretty much anyone fired without the slightest rationale, really. The fact was that he had done so, and now...Charlie was blaming _her_.

His dark eyebrows were furrowed and he bit out, "Can't you at least _talk_ to your father, and _try_ to get him to stop coming after mine? My family has suffered enough at the hands of yours."

"You don't know what you're asking of me." She looked away.

"I don't?" The red in his cheeks deepened with anger. "Your parents hate everything about who I am and who my family is. My father works so hard, he has for every single day of his life since he graduated from Hogwarts, but the only reason he hasn't been able to get a promotion in years is because of people like your father. People who hate everything my father stands for. And now he's been suspended for what? Nothing! All I'm asking is that you try. _Try_ to maybe explain to them your true feelings, everything you've been hiding up until now."

When she didn't bother responding, he continued on.

"You're his _daughter_. You can do something, _anything_ to make a difference. What's _stopping_ you?"

Disbelief coursed through her and she retorted angrily, "Stopping me? _What's stopping me_? You think my family is like _yours,_ so _accepting_ of flaws? I am not a filthy blood traitor! I can't _tell_ people what we've been doing. I have _standards_ to live up to!"

His back hit the stone wall with a soft thump and he just stared at her in resignation. Clenching her jaw, she only just began to realize the full extent of what she had just said to him. She wanted to scream that she didn't mean it, that blood status meant nothing to her, but nothing came out of her mouth.

His eyes bore into hers. She sensed that he didn't really believe her words, but he only replied, "I see...if that's how you really feel."

He turned to leave, but before he reached the doorway, he turned back.

"It's funny, you know..." He frowned down at the stone floor. "Falling in love with you was the easiest thing I've done in my whole life. But it's also the hardest."

She reeled in shock. Love...he was...in _love_ with her?

"Maybe..."

He never finished the thought.

She slid down to the floor after he was long gone and pressed her palms into her eyes, trying to stifle her tears. It didn't work. The pain hit her all at once and it was then that her chest tightened, heart hammering against her ribcage as she realized that if she wasn't a Malfoy, she could have had a normal, _happy_ life. She could have loved magical creatures openly, she could have had real friends, she could have had _so much more_. She could have had _him_.

All the money, the clothes, the status...it didn't mean a thing to her if she couldn't live her life.

 _Maybe we weren't meant to be._

 **※**

He avoided her for weeks, but she responded in kind just as harshly. Her treatment of him and his fellow Housemates worsened terribly. The other Slytherins, now seeing that she no longer held back on her vicious streak, were ecstatic. They were all too happy to join in with their typical, rotten behavior towards the Gryffindors.

Only Geoffrey knew the true reason behind her sudden change of demeanor, and he just gave her an knowing look every time she hissed a hex or hurled an insult. Part of her felt guilty since this _wasn't who she was_ , but she was only _human_ and he had _hurt_ her.

She was disgusted with herself. How could she have let him make her feel so...vulnerable?

She cannot accept that.

Because Malfoys can never be like that; they cannot be _weak_. Especially at the hands of a _blood traitor_. The worst of them all.

Except...

Except he _wasn't_.

He was...he was just _Charlie_. He had been a project partner. Friend. _Boyfriend_.

But they were two people in different worlds, and it broke her heart to know that being with him...was only something out of a dream.

 **※**

A twig snapped nearby and the sound shocked her out of her tranquil state.

The smile on her face disappeared and she slammed the small wooden box of feed closed, tucking it in her robes and straightening haughtily. She groaned internally when she saw the three heads bobbing towards her. _Gryffindors_.

 _"Malfoy._ What are you doing out here?" The boy who had spoken had a suspicious and accusing look on his face. "Trying to resurrect You-Know-Who?"

Something inside her twinged with hurt, however childish the jibe was, but she'd learned long ago to ignore the heartless remarks. It came with her surname.

She fixed a hateful sneer on her face, one she had learned all too well from her father. "I could ask you the same thing."

Her gaze passed over Charlie but it lasted less than a second, as she looked away quickly. This was the first time they'd been face-to-face since their awful fight, and it had been nearly two months, but the memory of it was still fresh in her mind.

The same Gryffindor who'd spoken sneered back.

"Hear that, Charlie? She thinks we're like _her._ " He let out a guffaw. Great Salazar, she wanted to just thump the idiot on the head and get out of this uncomfortable situation. The boy to the left of Charlie also sniggered and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, since she had a feeling that by the time she reached seventh year, her eyes might well be stuck in the back of her head from dealing with these lot of Gryffindors.

"Yeah." Though there was no venom in his voice, his next words still stung. "Guess you can't expect much from a Slytherin, much less a Malfoy."

His words were directed at her more than they were at his friends.

The hurt that shot through her at that was crippling, more painful than anything anyone had ever said to her, because it was from _him_. He must have seen something on her face because instantly there was regret in his eyes, but she'd heard enough.

Tossing her hair, she swept by the three Gryffindors with a haughty scoff. She didn't expect Charlie to shoot out a hand and grip her arm. Swinging around, she shot him an incredulous look. He looked pained and his mouth was half-open, like he was about to say something.

"Oi..." His friend edged close to him and prodded him. "The hell are you doing, mate? She's gonna rip your arm out if you keep doing that."

When the seconds passed and she realized he wasn't about to say a thing, she wrenched her arm out of his grasp and left, barely keeping it together.

She managed to make it back to her dorm, though it was mostly all a blur, before collapsing on her bed and screaming out her frustrations into her pillow, not before drawing the curtains and throwing up a _Muffliato_ , of course.

Seeing his face again, feeling his _touch_ again...it reminded her of everything they had been before. He had entered her life like daylight...slowly and then all at once, and she couldn't get rid of the thought of him now. It was like breathing, loving him. She did it without thinking, without comprehending it, without knowing how to make it _stop_.

She could watch him for a single second and find a thousand things she loved about him.

"Salazar's nut," she breathed, as the last thought rang through her mind over and over again and she realized how utterly fucked she was.

She...was in love with him.

 _She was in love with Charlie Weasley._

 **※**

Breakfast began rather normally. She buttered her toast, Geoffrey complained about really most things in general, and the morning post was delivered.

What was not normal, however, was what she received in the morning post. Because one didn't often get an engagement ring in the mail.

 _My daughter,_ the letter began.

 _It has come to my attention that you are now of suitable age for betrothal. It is time you brought pride to the Malfoy family name. Enclosed is a letter from the suitor I have chosen fo—_

She didn't even finish the letter. Her blood boiled, rage coursing through her in suffocating waves. The tension coiled up in her fingers threatened to tear the letter in half, and she noticed Geoffrey move a couple pieces of particular sharp silverware away from her, eyeing her with trepidation out of the corner of his eye.

Betrothal?

Pride?

Had her academic prowess at Hogwarts meant _nothing_ to her father?

It was the fact that he hadn't even bothered to consult her in making this decision that stung her the most. Angry tears pricked at her eyes and she fought to keep them down.

It was the last straw, really. She'd already been at the end of her rope, so _exhausted_ with trying to protect her family and its _honor_ from what she really believed, how she really felt. They didn't seem to notice the slightest bit of how much effort she put into trying to project the ideal pureblood image. Granted, they didn't _know_ that it was all utter bullshit and that she liked taking care of creatures in her free time or that she didn't give a _damn_ about blood purity, not anymore, but still.

She was tired and she was _done_.

She stood up abruptly, and the Slytherins near her paused, giving her curious looks briefly before returning their attentions to her plate. Geoffrey tugged on her sleeve violently, muttering, "What the hell are you doing?"

She merely ripped her arm out of his grasp and stepped over the bench to make her way down and around the long table and towards the Gryffindor one. Heads turned where she walked and she spotted even the professors eyeing her curiously as she approached the table filled with crimson and gold ties. Her attention was solely focused on her target, who was sitting closer to the end of the table.

Her heart stuttered as she closed in and she almost turned back then and there from the anxiety that constricted her throat. She stopped in her tracks.

What the hell _was_ she doing?

She was going to get ostracized by her own House.

She was probably going to get _disowned_ by her own _parents_. All...for what?

Then one of the boys sitting next to Charlie nudged his shoulder and jerked his chin in her direction.

And when he turned his head to meet her eyes and she gazed into those impossibly blue eyes, the final piece of the puzzle fell into place.

For _him_.

And...for herself.

She knew _exactly_ what she was doing. Screw everything her father had tried to instill in her. There was not an ounce of truth to what he believed. If anything, _he_ was the vermin of the wizarding world, for rejecting the competence and accomplishments of so many fine witches and wizards. If anything, _he_ was the disgrace to magic, for partaking in the cruelty and murders that had taken the lives of so many. And if there was _anything_ she was sure of anymore, it was that she was in love with Charlie Weasley.

She lifted her chin and cleared her throat, her feet taking her closer to him unconsciously. The nervousness had seeped away and all that remained was her stubborn pride. Her back evened out and she stood straight, striding towards Charlie with all the grace she could muster from the years of smothering pureblood training she'd suffered through.

It seemed like ages before she finally came to a stop in front of him. His expression had turned to one of extreme bewilderment and alarm as he glanced at her and back at the Slytherin table again and again, his eyes screaming the exact same thing Geoffrey had asked her just moments ago. She followed his gaze to her table. Some of the Slytherins appeared confused, but the majority of them just looked excited, most likely expecting quite the show from her. She narrowed her eyes. Oh, they would get a show, alright. Just not the one they were expecting.

She reached down with one hand to grip his tie and yanked him up sharply. His mates immediately reached for their wands but Charlie swept out a hand distractedly, halting their progress. His gaze was fixated on hers and she searched his eyes for any resentment, of hatred of her. She found none. Instead, there was just a...longing, a feeling that she knew all too well, for she had carried it around with her for weeks and her heart was so _heavy_ and _tired_ from it.

Their lips collided harshly and heat quickly rose up inside her at the feel of his tongue slipping into her mouth, searching for hers. One of his hands came around to settle on the small of her back. He sat back down, no longer able to remain half standing, and their teeth clacked together as he pulled her down slightly. The brief disturbance was quickly forgotten when she released his tie, one hand coming up to frame his right cheek, the other entwining itself in his hair. Tugging lightly on his hair, she felt him suck in a breath at the sensation.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she registered the sound of plates crashing to the ground and stunned gasps from all around the Great Hall.

One singular whoop coming from the Slytherin table. "You get him, girl!"

She made a note to murder Geoffrey later, but the thought quickly slipped away when Charlie's hand encircled her wrist and he pulled her down onto his lap. She broke away with an intake of breath from the sudden movement, tilting her head down so their foreheads touched. Her fingers slid down his jaw and back up as she studied his face, committing his handsome features to memory. Oh, how she had _missed_ him.

"I didn't mean it." She murmured.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I know."

His fingers intertwined with hers, and he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry for what I said too, for...trying to pressure you into something you weren't comfortable with. I...I was an idiot."

"I know."

His low chuckle made her knees weak and a breathy laugh escaped her.

"You'll be the death of me, Weasley." She whispered, lips curving up into a small smile.

His fingers brushed her jaw and then they were kissing again, and she could feel his mischievous grin growing against hers. "I'm certain I can get that pretty heart of yours started again. It's beating rather strongly right now, isn't it?"

Cocky bastard.

She snorted and lifted her head to take the moment to call out, "Bulstrode!"

There was no need to catch his attention because he was already watching the two of them with a look of revulsion and horror, but she did so anyway. Shifting slightly on Charlie's lap, she chucked the ugly and horrifyingly garish ring at the stocky Slytherin, hitting him square in the forehead. She briefly marveled at the unexpected skill before finishing, "You can keep that. I'm fine right here."

She looked back at Charlie and repeated, though this time only for his ears to hear, " _Just fine_."

Never let it be said that she didn't at least live up to the trademark Malfoy family theatrics.


	2. Part II

**A/N: hey it's me ya resident garbage writer. I wasn't too happy with this chapter, which I wrote a year ago, but my New Year's Resolution is to actually write complete fics this year so I finished and tweaked it and here it is lmao. The third chapter is a less of a mess so it should be published soon. Thank you to everyone who stuck around!**

* * *

 **Part II**

It was the _Wedding of the Century_ , as the _Daily Prophet_ had so aptly coined it.

 _He_ personally liked the ring to it, but he had a feeling that _she_ hated it, if her threatening to bankrupt the _Prophet_ was any indication. He did have to admit that it was a fairly flowery piece, one filled with vomit-worthy cliches about "two mortal enemies finding peace after war" and "bridging the divide and mending wounds inflicted by pureblood supremacy" and "ushering in a new era of inclusion." Merlin, his brothers had promised him that they would never let him live that article down.

Charlie looked across the field, a grin flickering across his lips as he watched the guests mingle. The setting sun cast an ethereal, golden glow over them. It was an absolutely stunning venue, although he was probably a little biased, seeing as he _worked_ here and the place never failed to take his breath away every day. His mother, on the other hand, had nearly lost her mind when she heard that he wanted to get married at the dragon sanctuary he worked at. It had taken some work, but they had managed to convince her to settle down enough to hear out their plan.

He spotted Narcissa and Draco Malfoy standing among the guests and was pleasantly surprised to see them making an effort to socialize with the others. The aftermath of the war had been tough on them, what with the intense scrutiny and judgment the public had put on Death Eater families.

He saw his own mother, with weary but happy eyes, standing next to his brothers and sister. The planning of the wedding had taken a lot out of her, and he could still hear the ghosts of her and Narcissa's voices arguing about which colors best matched the couple's eyes, what flowers were most romantic.

The Malfoys had paid for the entire wedding and post-nuptials celebration, ignoring all protests from his mother and father. ' _A small price to pay,'_ Narcissa had said. ' _For the unforgivable things we've done.'_

 _Small_ was an understatement. Narcissa Malfoy had spared no expense. The flower arrangements alone probably costed more than a whole national Quidditch team was worth, maybe two.

A flash of green caught his eye and Charlie's eyes landed on an extravagantly dressed man and recognized the figure as his fiancée's best friend from Hogwarts. Geoffrey Farley something-or-the-other. Farley's wife, a sour looking woman, seemed irritated by whatever the former Slytherin was talking about, and given Farley's exaggerated gestures, Charlie didn't blame her. He suppressed a chuckle when he saw the unfortunate recipient of Farley's attention. Harry looked as awkward as ever and was picking at his expensive dress robes, despite being the savior of the wizarding world and owner of the Order of Merlin, First Class. He didn't seem to know how to respond to Farley's animated speech, and certainly didn't know how to handle the gaggle of girls—Charlie recognized them to be distant cousins that he'd met a couple times before—hanging off him. Ginny looked apoplectic off to the side, but Fred and George were holding her back fortunately, for Charlie didn't know what he would have done if she'd Bat-Bogeyed the whole lot right before his wedding.

He didn't see many of his coworkers around, but it was most likely because they were off wrangling Lyra and making last-minute preparations to ensure that the venue didn't burn down. That wouldn't be a good situation, and his mum would most likely murder him, though she'd already been close to doing so when the couple had revealed the idea of having their favorite dragon at the wedding.

"Well well, Mr. Weasley."

Charlie was interrupted from his thoughts when a tall woman approached him. He grinned. "Headmistress."

McGonagall simply arched an eyebrow but joined him in surveying the rest of the guests milling about. She was silent for a moment before speaking. "I must say, I had not expected this outcome when I paired you and Miss Malfoy for a mere school project."

"Didn't expect we would come this far?" Charlie teased.

"Certainly not." McGonagall chuckled. "You exceeded my expectations."

"Really?" Charlie frowned. "Only exceeded? I recall we got an Outstanding on that assignment."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Still as impudent as ever, I see."

"Impudent?" Charlie leaned forward. "You must have me confused. With Fred. Or George. Or Ron."

McGonagall ignored him. Instead, her eyes softened and she rested a hand gently on Charlie's shoulder, giving him a rare smile. "Mr. Weasley, I daresay this union will be one for the ages. I wish you and Miss Malfoy nothing but the best."

Charlie returned the smile and took it a step further, wrapping his arms around the headmistress. "Thank you, Minerva."

A strangled sound was produced from the professor's throat and she patted his back awkwardly. "Yes, quite."

They stood there for a long moment, until the Hogwarts headmistress deemed the embrace too uncomfortable to continue.

"Mr. Weasley." McGonagall cleared her throat and gestured outwards. "I believe your wedding is starting. Perhaps you should take your place."

Charlie jumped back and looked around, startled. True to her words, most of the guests had already taken their seats and the noise level had died down. He shot McGonagall one last smile before hurrying towards the front. He slid into his place, and greeted Kingsley, who winked at him and adjusted his robes.

He took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on the white tent a small ways off.

* * *

 _It's his first day at Hogwarts and the excitement is buzzing in his ears. He can't wait for any of his classes, and it takes everything to stop from bouncing up and down on his toes. So fixated on his timetable is he that he doesn't watch where he's going._ _The next thing he knows, he's crashing into someone._

 _"Sorry!" Charlie scrambles to help pick up the belongings of the girl he'd nearly bowled over. "Are you alright?"_

 _He doesn't receive an answer._

 _When he lifts his eyes to look at the girl, his heart stops._

 _She's the prettiest girl he's ever seen, with full lips and kind, grey eyes and he swears that she looks familiar. She sweeps her long, silver hair over her shoulder and it finally strikes him. He's seen her before, or rather, the back of her head, in the Magical Menagerie a week before, cooing over a baby puffskein when she thought no one was looking._

 _He barely notices her gaze turn to his own hair and the suspicion that replaces the light in her eyes._

 _And just like that, she's gone in a swirl of robes, head held high in the air._

 _"Weasley." His friend's urgent whisper pulls him back into the here and now, though slightly unsuccessfully as he continues to stare, dazed._

 _"Weasley!"_ _His Housemate shakes his shoulder._

 _"You just ran over a_ Malfoy."

* * *

His older brother clapped him on the back, giving him a little shake that really didn't help and only worsened the bundle of nerves inside him.

"You ready, Charlie?"

He shook his arms, trying to rid himself of the jitters he was feeling.

"More than ready."

* * *

 _"Malfoy and Weasley."_

 _Charlie's heart leaps in his chest but his forehead creases in disappointment upon seeing her clear displeasure for the announcement. When he realizes that she was clearly hoping for a different partner, he picks up his things and makes his way over. She won't be rid of him that easily._

 _He can't stop the smile that grows when she speaks._

 _"—do Human Transfiguration. It's probably the hardest topic there is and if we show we've mastered that, it's a guaranteed Outstanding."_

 _It's beautiful,_ _the way she speaks. He can't take his eyes off her lips, so soft and full. He groans internally when he realizes his crush on her is only growing stronger with every second he spends watching her._

" _Something_ funny _, Weasley?_ "

 _The smile fades and he clears his throat. "No, not at all."_

 _But when she looks back down, he can't help the warmth that fills him._

 _ **She's** beautiful._

 _...Even if her declaration of what they should do for their project makes him think she might be a little unhinged._

* * *

The flaps to the tent open by themselves, and Charlie held his breath as he saw the figure make its way out and into the long aisle. She was _mesmerizing_ , a stunning vision in ivory blue, and the train drifting behind her combined with the elegant chiffon of the gown gave off the illusion of a goddess born from sea foam.

Charlie couldn't help but let his lips part in astonishment, staring in awe. He didn't care that Fred and George were off to the side snickering with glee at his dumbfounded expression. She was the best thing he'd ever seen in his life. Her grey eyes sparkled at him even from the distance, and a responding smile broke out onto his face.

* * *

 _"It's about the project."_

 _He wears out the excuse until even he's tired of hearing it. But it's the only way he can even get close to her and he'd be damned if he lets the chance slip through his fingers. He suspects she's already figured him out, but the fact that she doesn't push him away each time he approaches her encourages him._

 _When she up and leaves during breakfast one day, a secretive smile decorating her pretty face, he just **knows** it was her. He looks down at the glossy broom, a fuzzy feeling dancing around in his chest._

 _Gryffindors are never subtle about gossip, something that has annoyed Charlie for ages. He's not sure how his deep hatred of it started. But if he had to give a reason, the most likely source was probably near the end of first year, when particularly vicious rumors about her were being spread around the school. He saw her that evening, on one of his nightly escapades to Hagrid's hut. She was perched near a pillar, staring out into the forest. Her short legs swung slowly, the tips of her toes not even close to brushing the ground. When she swiped a hand across her face, he saw the telltale shine of tear tracks on her cheeks. And his young heart ached for her._

 _"Did you hear?"_

 _"What?"_

 _"About Malfoy."_

 _"Ah, our resident Slytherin supremacist? What about the the bint?"_

 _Charlie lifts his head from where it's buried in a thick textbook about dragon biology. He narrows his eyes, fingers itching toward his wand. A couple pus-squirting hexes would probably do the trick. There was no one else in the common room. He was hidden in the giant armchair facing the fireplace. No one would know._

 _"Ah, come on. That's a little much. But apparently, she saved Grant from being hexed by her Housemates."_

 _"You're pulling my leg. He's a Muggleborn. Why would she do that?"_

 _Charlie's hand stops in its path toward his belt where his wand is stuck. He smiles down at the textbook, the fuzzy feeling in his chest swelling madly._

 _He knows he's in big trouble when she spins around in the rain and he can't tear his gaze away. He's glad he's wearing robes. They cover things, important things, particularly things affected by how the rain soaks her clothes and makes them cling to her alluring figure. He thanks everything from Merlin to Salazar Slytherin when the flying tree trunk forces the two together and he has the excuse to hold her. And then he curses everything he had just thanked when their almost-kiss is interrupted. If his roommates notice the extra long and cold shower he takes that night, they don't mention a thing about it._

 _Their first kiss takes him completely by surprise. Her lips are soft, so soft, but when he suddenly withdraws with surprise, a hurt expression crosses her face and he just knows he's buggered it up._

 _Their subsequent kisses are so, so much better._

 _She flashes him a heartstopping smile after their Transfiguration presentation and he's momentarily stunned._ _Merlin, he loves this witch so much._

 _Charlie freezes in his tracks. He wonders when that unknown feeling in his chest had blossomed into **this**._

* * *

She met him after what seemed like forever and slipped a hand into his, caressing the back of his hand gently with the pad of her thumb.

"You look _oh_ -so handsome," she murmured, gazing at him with soft eyes.

He desperately wanted to kiss her right there and then but Kingsley cleared his throat, and the couple turned back to the Minister.

"Right," Kingsley grinned at the two. "Shall we get started?"

* * *

 _She moves to Romania with him on the grounds that she's trying to get in some field research before applying to a Ministry position in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but there are plenty of better opportunities in Britain so he suspects she had done it partly for him. She even joins the same dragon sanctuary as a part-time Assistant Healer. He wouldn't change a thing about it, if it means he can see her more often._

 _Charlie learns a lot of things about her, things that most people wouldn't know._

 _He learns that she hates it when he gets injured, no matter how minor the wound is. But despite her displeasure, she only gives him a chiding look before helping patch him up in the medical tent._

 _He learns that she secretly loves being doted on. It's only too apparent in the embarrassed smile she quickly forces down when his mum smothers her in affection. "Oh, my sweet girl, you're staying here for the holidays. I won't take no for an answer. You'll stay in Ginny's room, though! I want grandchildren, but not until the two of you are married."_

 _"Mum!"_

 _He learns that whenever she's upset,_ _she retreats back into the cold, sharp Malfoy persona he thought had been abandoned once they finished Hogwarts. In time, he manages to coax her out of it. She tells him he saved her. From her father, from everything she thought she stood for, and even from herself._ _If possible, he falls in love with her even more._ _H_ _e rather thinks that it's the other way around. She's been saving him from the moment he laid eyes on her in the Menagerie._

 _He learns that she fits so perfectly in his arms, especially when they're lying on the sofa and she's asking him a torrent of questions related to how the telly works. He doesn't think he'll ever admit to her that he rarely pays attention to whatever is on the screen. He's content just holding her and listening to her soothing voice._

 _And through everything, he learns one thing about himself._

 _It's that, for the love of Merlin, he's **never** letting her go._

* * *

Charlie slipped his hand over her palm, flipping it and sliding it over her forearm. Her fingers closed around his as well.

* * *

 _He asks her to marry him over a dozen times but all he receives is a gentle kiss on the forehead and an, "Ask me again some other time, love."_

 _He doesn't blame her. With the rise of Voldemort, there were countless people in the same position, not wanting to make promises with the threat of death so near. And as both of them are members of the Order, the fear is so much more real._

 _He also senses deep down that despite having been disowned, there's some part of her still holding out hope that her family will be there for her when she marries._

* * *

One long and dazzling golden strand slithered out from the minister's wand and wove intricately around their grasped arms.

* * *

 _He searches for her frantically during the battle, having lost track of her at some point. There's a terrible dread in him and his mind can't stop coming up with all sorts of horrible scenarios._

 _Her lying on the battleground, bleeding out._

 _A flash of green light._

 _Strong, grey eyes...empty._

 _He breathes a sigh of relief when he finally sees her, spinning and fighting so gracefully he could swear she's dancing. Her hair whips around her as she twists around and ducks under curses sent flying her way._

 _"You."_

 _The hiss is venomous and cruel. He turns to face a man with eerily familiar features and immediately throws up a shield when Lucius Malfoy sends a red curse hurtling towards him, followed by a barrage of curses that keeps him on the defensive._

 _He's finally unable to dodge the Crucio fired at him and drops to his knees, the excruciating pain gnawing at him instantaneously, rendering him unable to move._

 _He hears an agonized_ " ** _No_** _!_ _Charlie!_ " _somewhere off in the distance but he can't tear his gaze away from the tip of the wand that is pointed at him, just a centimeter away from his forehead._

 _And then there's a flash of green light, but it's not from the wand in front of him._

 _Lucius Malfoy drops to the ground._

 _She's there next to him, kissing his forehead, arms wrapped around him like she's afraid of letting go._

 _It's a different set of grey eyes that stares up at him lifelessly now._

* * *

He looked into _her_ eyes, so vibrant and full of _life,_ and the words that came out of him were unwavering.

"I do."

* * *

 _He asks her again, half expecting another "Ask me again some other time"._

 _The answer that comes out of her mouth proves him so, so wrong._

 _"Yes."_

* * *

"I _do_."

The glowing strand wrapped around their arms tightened and shone even brighter, flaring up to radiate an intense but not uncomfortable heat. The light illuminated the rings the couple wore. And then there was a rush of heat and fire roared into the sky above, Lyra's magnificent blue scales glittering as she arched her neck.

Applause roared from the watching guests, the only noise loud enough to overcome it coming from the loud, racking sobs of the half-giant seated off to the side. He saw Narcissa wipe away a few tears, but the movement was almost unnoticeable. Draco was clapping but he had a slightly annoyed expression on his face. Charlie figured him kissing the man's sister probably had something to do with that. His own mother, on the other hand, was weeping openly, clutching his father for support. And his siblings looked overjoyed for him, though he knew that it was brief because no doubt they would be all too happy to return to taunt the hell out of him. Every single one of the idiots at one point or another had made offhand comments about him never finding a relationship with someone who was not a dragon.

He was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt, but it was so, _so_ worth it.

Their smiles never faded the entire night, not after touching their foreheads to Lyra's as thanks, nor after having their first dance as a married couple.

He watched, a happy buzzing in his chest, as Hagrid spun her around and she laughed, eyes shining with delight. So distracted by she was Charlie that he didn't notice the pale, pointy-nosed man sliding up next to him.

A hand fell on him, squeezing hard enough to send an ache shooting through Charlie's shoulder.

"Mate," the man gritted out, obviously trying his hardest to seem cheerful. It wasn't working, partly due to the fact that Draco Malfoy was not one to say ' _mate._ ' "You hurt her, and I'll make your life a living hell."

It was rather amusing to Charlie seeing Draco try and be threatening, and though the younger man was slightly taller than him, Charlie was older and far more experienced in dealing with Malfoys.

"You know, your sister said something like that to me a long time ago," Charlie's lips turned up in a small smile as he recalled the memory. "She never had to act on it."

"Hm." Draco sneered, but Charlie could tell it was merely force of habit, having, after all, dealt with his fianc— _wife's_ —many sneers during school. Draco turned to watch his sister dancing with Fred and George, though it looked more like she was being dragged around by the two fools.

Charlie grinned and lifted his glass to clink against Draco's. "To brothers-in-law."

Draco sighed, clearly resigning himself to the fact that he was now technically related to the Weasleys, but tipped his glass towards Charlie before taking a sip. A concerning sound not unlike a cat dying came from behind them and the two turned to see where it had come from. Charlie spotted his youngest brother staring at them with a nauseated expression before Ron darted off, muttering something about being sick to his stomach.

Charlie grimaced. "I apologize for him. He'll grow up eventually, I hope."

"I hate to break it to you," Draco scoffed, "but that's a load of rubbish."

Charlie snorted.

"Hey you." The two men looked up to see the blushing bride—or rather, a smirking one—standing in front of them, her hands propped up on her hips. "Are either of you going to give me a dance?"

Charlie looked at Draco, who shook his head and slapped Charlie on the back. "Go. I've had enough of her stepping on my toes for tonight."

An affronted expression crossed her face. "Go ahead, Draco. Keep talking. I'll remember this when I accidentally slip Astoria naked baby pictures of you."

Draco suddenly succumbed to a bout of coughs, firewhisky dripping from his nose, and quickly excused himself.

Charlie stepped forward and reached a hand out to her, grinning wildly.

"Shall we?"


	3. Bonus

**Bonus**

To be perfectly honest, Harry didn't know much about relationships. About love.

His childhood had been a mess of biblical proportions. He had no doubts about that. The memory of his parents was fleeting, only experiencing them through flashes of warmth in his dreams. Petunia and Vernon Dursley hadn't exactly been role models for healthy marriages and proper parenting. The affection the two showed each other was _different_ , and Harry wasn't sure it was in a good way. Many times he'd caught himself staring longingly after families and couples in the park, pictures of perfection and happiness.

He'd started to wonder.

He never had much luck in school either. It came with the territory, being the Boy-Who-Lived and all. So few people could look past that part of him. That was probably why he really only had just the two friends. Hermione and Ron were so dear to him and they had taught him about loyalty, about _friendship_.

But still he _wondered_.

Couples in Hogwarts weren't much help, as Harry quickly came to terms with the fact that trivial teenage relationships and quick trysts in broom cupboards, from what he'd seen on his map, lacked what he was looking for...something deeper.

Harry wondered if he would ever find out what it meant to love unconditionally.

"You must be Harry _Potter_."

Harry was glad for the unknown interruption, as the scene before him was quickly spiraling downhill. Clearly, Mr. Weasley originally had never planned on mentioning the whole tongue-enlarging fiasco to his wife, but there was no escaping her wrath now that she'd caught wind of the problem. He didn't envy the twins. Mrs. Weasley's anger was a force to be reckoned with. If he'd known that accepting the Weasleys' offer to join them for the Quidditch World Cup would come with witnessing the twins' early demise at the hands of their mother, he _just might_ have reconsidered. The air was getting to be quite hostile and the Weasley matriarch's face was turning an alarming shade of red, so he seized on the opportunity to get away that came in the form of a cool voice behind him.

He spun around to see who had spoken and came face to face with an incredibly attractive woman with proud, aristocratic features. She had grey eyes and silver hair swept over one shoulder—briefly, Harry was reminded of Draco Malfoy, much to his horror, but this woman obviously had nothing to do with his school rival if she was here at the Burrow. He was perplexed. Surely she wasn't a Weasley, not with that shade of hair.

He took her outstretched hand, nodding and replying eloquently, "Uh, yeah."

Her lips curved up in an amused smirk and Harry cursed himself for being about as graceful as a flobberworm. The woman was wearing a grey sweater a little too large for her that curiously had a red 'C' emblazoned on the front—a sweater that Harry recognized to be in the knitting style of Mrs. Weasley—and a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans.

"Er...and you are?"

One eyebrow rose in bemusement. "You've never heard of me?"

It was only then that Harry realized the entire kitchen had fallen silent and that everyone else was staring at the two. He wasn't sure what to say. Ron had never mentioned anything about someone else joining them for the Quidditch World Cup. Fred elbowed his way towards them—most likely just glad to find an excuse to get away from his seething mother—and threw his arm around the woman, nearly knocking her over. Impressively, she remained standing, even with one of the twins hanging off her like an over-sized leech.

"This here, Harry, is our very own, our personal...Malfoy!" He placed a very wet, very sloppy kiss on her cheek and Harry's jaw fell open. Surely the Weasley twin was pulling his leg, though it was a strange joke that made no sense. Fred added as an afterthought, "We snatched up the one good one."

"Oi, oi." Charlie stepped forward and peeled the clinging twin off the woman. Harry gawked at the familiar way with which the older Weasley brother he'd just met tucked his arm around her. "Stop using my girlfriend to try and get out of your punishment."

Fred made a face. "Traitor."

Harry's head was ringing and he held up a hand. "Hold on... _girlfriend_?"

An amused expression crossed the woman's face. "Still not ringing a bell?"

Harry winced, shaking his head.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley." Mrs. Weasley's voice was sharp and clear, her eyes staring accusingly at her youngest son, who shrunk down into his seat and grimaced as he muttered, "I knew I'd forgotten something."

"What, you embarrassed of me or something, squirt?" The silver-haired woman darted forward and wrapped an arm around Ron's neck, pulling him lightly into a chokehold and ignoring the indignant shout of ' _squirt?'_ that came from beneath her arm.

Charlie chuckled. Harry noted the fond look that crossed over the second eldest Weasley brother's face as they all watched Ron try to escape the woman's surprisingly strong grip. "Don't worry about it, Harry. Ron still hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that I'm dating a Malfoy."

Under his breath, however, the dragonologist murmured resentfully, "Even though it's been five years."

Harry's eyes were still bulging out of his head. He wasn't sure _he'd_ be able to come to terms with it anytime soon. Not once had Ron ever mentioned that one of his brothers was dating a _Malfoy_. Suddenly, Draco Malfoy's unwavering hatred of Ron and the entire Weasley clan was becoming all too clear. The instant their school rival had laid eyes on Ron, his entire face had twisted up in disgust. And Harry understood now, why Ron was all too eager to stick it to the Malfoy name but how there was always a strange, almost hesitant glint in his eyes that followed.

The female Malfoy in question must have registered the expression on his face because she finally released Ron and nodded, adding, "Don't worry about it, Potter. My dear parents and loving little brother probably also haven't mentioned me since I was blasted off the family tree for falling for this tosser."

She jabbed her elbow into Charlie's side but he just laughed, dodging the blow and wrapping his arm around her shoulders again so he could pull her closer to press a kiss to the side of her head.

Harry was about to look away, feeling rather awkward about witnessing the subtle yet sweet display of affection, when a small piece of wrapped candy—alarmingly similar to the one Dudley had opened—hit the side of Charlie's head.

"Get a room." George mimed a vomiting gesture.

"How's the little prat doing?" Malfoy asked casually, ignoring George and slinging an arm around Charlie's waist as she leaned into him.

Harry hesitated before attempting to clarify, "You mean..."

"Draco, my younger brother." She smirked and there was no mistaking Malfoy family resemblance now. Harry was briefly distracted by a strange lilt he picked up in her voice, almost out of place with the way she talked. A flash of recognition came to mind. It was muted, but the way she talked was just so similar to her younger brother's. And yet...so different. Draco Malfoy simply screamed pureblood, from the way he walked to his very punchable face. In her case though, her tone and words were much less...arrogant, but there was still an air about her that whispered of a pureblood upbringing. Harry found that it wasn't unpleasant though. It suited her. "He still an absolute monster?"

"Er..."

She nodded in satisfaction at his response. "I gather he is then. They always did spoil him rotten."

Harry was at a loss for words for the umpteenth time that day, but she took pity on him and flashed him a quick smile before turning her eyes onto Mrs. Weasley, who was now staring at three of her sons angrily.

By the time things started to settle down, if that's what one could call the yelling match that quickly started between the twins and their mother, Harry had finally managed to get over his initial shock of the new discovery standing next to Charlie, tucked under the man's arm. But more than once, he found his own gaze wandering over to Malfoy with a mixture of fascination and confusion.

"Harry dear?"

His attention snapped back to Mrs. Weasley, who was attempting her best smile but it wasn't really working, since any lightness she was going for was heavily overshadowed by the angry red dashing her cheeks. "Why don't you settle in? Dinner will be ready in a jiffy. Hermione can show you where you'll be staying."

Harry nodded, relieved, despite the obvious fact that Mrs. Weasley was trying to get rid of anyone who wasn't familiar with the way she ran her household. Fred and George clearly understood this because they began to inch away behind her, only to be blocked by Bill who wore an all too amused look on his face. Harry seized the end of his trunk but before he could even begin to drag it, the weight disappeared from his hand and the trunk floated up into the air. Turning his head, he found Malfoy standing right next to him, a wand in hand. She just raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Harry blushed. "Er...thanks."

"Come on, Harry." Hermione smiled and Harry felt almost guilty that he'd neglected to greet his friend in all the commotion that had sprung up around his arrival to the Burrow.

They didn't speak as they followed Hermione's bushy hair towards the stairs leading up to the second floor, but as his trunk began to drift further ahead of them, Malfoy opened her mouth again.

"Hey, Potter."

A cool hand settled on his wrist and Harry turned to face her again. They stopped just at the bottom of the stairs. "Yeah?"

The light-hearted expression on her face had somewhat faded and she looked rather serious now. "Listen...I watched Draco grow up into a sweet child. I did my best to protect him from my father's clutches, but unfortunately, he _is_ the male heir and with that comes...a _mountain_ of expectations."

Harry wasn't sure where Malfoy was going with this.

"It's my fault for leaving, and I do regret it every _day_...that I had to leave him behind, but just..."

Harry was surprised that she seemed to be struggling for words, for she seemed like the type who knew exactly what to say and do. But this clearly seemed like a touchy matter with her and Harry felt somewhat thankful that Malfoy was choosing to share something with him. "I know you're not likely to be best mates with him anytime soon from what I've heard, but please...just consider what he is going through before you judge him. Don't take what he says about you to heart. I truly believe that...that's just our father speaking. I think deep down, Draco understands things in a way not unlike how I did when I was younger. Right now, he's...well, he's just a boy."

"Yeah...I'll uh...I'll try." Harry quickly replied. "Really, I will. I guess I...never thought about it that way."

Malfoy looked at him, and Harry swore that she was staring right into his soul. But she seemed to find what she was looking for and gave him a short nod, flicking her wand. Harry realized his trunk was no longer in sight. "You should be all set. I'll leave you to it with Hermione then."

And with that, she disappeared back around the corner. Harry stared for a moment at her abrupt departure before shaking his head and taking the steps two at a time to find Hermione.

"What did she say to you?" asked Hermione curiously as the two settled onto Harry's temporary bed.

Harry shook his head. "Not much, just some stuff about Malfoy."

"You know, I think she really does love her brother. Makes me wonder though, what he might be like if he had gotten the chance to grow up with her." Hermione said thoughtfully, one hand resting on her chin. When Harry didn't reply, as he was wondering the exact same thing, she switched subjects. "You took it pretty well, though. I froze up terribly when I first met her...and then I realized she was actually _nice_."

Harry began to laugh, just imagining the expression that would have been on Hermione's face in an encounter with Draco Malfoy's older sibling.

"Oh, shut up!" Despite her scowl, she began to join in as well.

Eventually, when the laughter died down, Harry leaned forward and flipped open the clasps on his trunk, intent on unpacking some of his necessities. "So what have you all been up to before today?"

Hermione leaned forward eagerly, and Harry had a feeling that the new Malfoy and finally meeting all of Ron's brothers had a lot to do with the shine in her eye.

"I've got a _lot_ to catch you up on."

Dinner preparations were a lively affair. A long table had already been set outside in the garden by a few of the Weasley brothers, since the house would hardly fit all the Weasleys plus guests in the cramped dining room. Everyone seemed to have a task set out for them, all except for him of course. When Harry had tried to offer his assistance, Mrs. Weasley had almost looked offended and had quickly ushered him out of the way as she levitated a set of of plates out the door.

So instead, Harry found himself wandering around the Burrow, trying to help out where he could. He stepped outside to see if he could help the twins finish up setting out all the chairs but quickly darted back inside when he realized Fred and George were lobbing _garden gnomes_ at each other. That was a disaster waiting to happen and he did _not_ want to get caught up in it. He didn't get very far in asking Ginny if she needed any help with table decorations because she'd quickly turned red and anything she might have sputtered was incoherent.

Having no luck anywhere else, Harry headed towards the one place that he could probably be useful in: the kitchen. As he neared, he heard a distant screech from outside and gathered that Mrs. Weasley had ventured into the garden and found out what her twin sons were up to. Harry winced and instead turned his focus on the voices drifting out of the kitchen that were arguing about something.

"Are you sure you're doing it right?"

"What, you think you can do this better than me? Do you even know to cook? I feel like your diet in Romania would have consisted of to-go boxes if not for the fact that we had a mess hall."

"Ooh, low blow! Now that you remind me, Dobby did make the most wonderful butterbeer cupcakes though, bless his heart. Oh, how I miss him. _But_ , I'll have you know that I _have_ read all six hundred pages of _Charm Your Own Cheese_ by Gerda Catchlove."

"Do we look like we're making cheese right now, love?"

"Is that a challenge?"

Harry ducked his head into the kitchen, which was surprisingly empty. He supposed he'd been expecting Mrs. Weasley to be dominating the scene, if anything from his past experiences were true. But clearly the Weasley matriarch was busy elsewhere so instead of her, he found Charlie and his girlfriend.

The dragon trainer was flicking his wand in practiced motions at an assortment of vegetables on the cutting board in front of him, while Malfoy sat on the counter a small distance away, twirling her wand in lazy circle over a bowl of what seemed to be melted chocolate. Occasionally, she would snark about Charlie's wand form but from the easygoing grin on the Weasley's face, Harry could tell that he didn't mind her comments. Seeing that they didn't seem to be swamped and not wanting to interrupt the couple's time together, he turned to leave.

"What did you think of Harry?"

Harry whipped back around and nearly fell into the room, but fortunately managed to catch himself and was infinitely glad that the two wouldn't be able to see him from where he was located.

"Hm, the Potter boy?" Malfoy's voice was thoughtful and her moving hand came to a stop. With a flick of her hand, her sleeve rolled up and her wand was sheathed into something Harry recognized as a wand holster. It seemed harsh and so out of place on her arm, contrasting her casual outfit. "Seems like a nice boy. Cute."

Harry's cheeks flushed red and he fought the heat of embarrassment that crept up his spine. _Cute_? That was a first, he supposed. He'd gotten 'far too skinny' and 'his mother's eyes' and an endless assortment of other descriptions, but _cute_ was not a word he expected many others to refer to him as.

"Cute?" It seemed that Charlie echoed his sentiments as well. Charlie raised his wand and all the sliced vegetables began to dance single file into the bubbling pot in front of him. The redhead turned and propped up a hand on his hip, the other resting lightly on top of his wand on the counter as he gave his girlfriend an exasperated but amused look. "You're referring to Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, as _cute_?"

"Quite." Malfoy leaned her head back on the cupboards behind her. Her eyes closed as she picked up a spoon, twirling it around on her slender fingers. "You know, I don't know what I expected. But the first thing I thought was...thank Salazar his head isn't as big as Draco's. Not that it would be possible. That brat's ego is far too large. As for Potter, well he seems humble and down-to-earth in ways I wasn't expecting. It was...refreshing. Also, have you seen his hair? How has Molly not gotten her hands on that yet? So indeed, I think he's adorable."

This really wasn't helping the awkward and self-conscious feelings Harry was already deeply submerged in. He looked down uncomfortably and raised a hand almost unconsciously to flatten his hair.

"And I think he has a good heart. A kind one. The world needs that."

Harry's hand dropped down to his side and he looked up in surprise, warmth filling his chest from her kind words. She had spoken them with simple honesty in her voice, and he could find nothing to indicate that she hadn't meant them.

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, grinning. "He's a good lad. He has to be, to be able to put up with Ron."

"Good point."

Charlie picked up the cutting board he'd used and reached around Malfoy's legs to dump it in the sink next to her. Before he could turn back to the soup he was preparing though, Malfoy's legs hooked around both of his in a flash, locking him in place in front of her. It didn't seem to be a great position on his part though, and Charlie had to shoot out a hand to grip the counter for stability.

Brushing aside the fact that he'd nearly fallen head first into the melted chocolate she had made, Malfoy held out a spoon covered in the chocolate to Charlie. "Here, taste this. I swear to Merlin, if I got her recipe wrong, Molly may never trust me with anything ever again."

"Mum loves you," Charlie grumbled, pushing himself up and shuffling closer so he could stand without falling over. "In her eyes, you can do no wrong."

"Is that jealousy I hear?" Malfoy smirked and jabbed the spoon in Charlie's direction. "Taste it. Please."

Charlie plucked the spoon from her and stuck it in his mouth, humming in thought. Harry noticed that Malfoy actually looked _concerned_. She must have really cared about how dessert would turn out, despite the seemingly bored way she had been stirring the chocolate earlier.

"Well?"

"Tastes just like Mum's. It's perfect." Charlie tossed the spoon into the sink, where it fell with a clatter on top of the cutting board. "But..."

The redhead swooped in suddenly for a kiss, his hand tucking a strand of silver hair behind her ear as their lips met. Harry immediately felt uncomfortable, cursing his decision to eavesdrop on Malfoy's opinion of him. He drew back and began to leave, but the kiss was a brief and sweet one, and at that moment, the two separated and something caught his attention.

Malfoy's eyes were grey, as he'd noticed when they had first met. Intense and scrutinizing, her eyes had been what made Harry straighten immediately and give her his full attention. But now, as she gazed at Charlie with parted lips, they were impossibly soft. She looked at him...Malfoy looked at Charlie Weasley like he was her world, like she'd been lost for the longest time and he was the one who had found her.

 _She looked at him like someone finally realizing they were home._

"...not as perfect as you." The words were so quiet Harry almost missed them while absorbed in the revelation that had come to him.

There was a brief pause that, to Harry, seemed to stretch on forever.

"You are so _cheesy_!"

"Good thing you read that cheese book then, huh?"

"Ugh, get away from me, you numpty."

"Can't. I'm trapped between your legs, love. _Although_..."

"Harry? What are you doing?"

Harry jerked back around the corner and flattened himself against the wall, heart leaping into his throat. _Was he busted?_

Ron stood behind him on the last step of the staircase, a mop in hand.

"Nothing." Harry replied too quickly, and Ron eyed him. For a second, he was afraid that Ron would head into the kitchen and find exactly what he'd been eavesdropping on, but his friend just leaned forward instead and whispered, "Great. D'you think you could help me clean the rooms upstairs? Mum's furious that I forgot to do it before you arrived and I could use some help. Hermione won't help because she thinks I deserve it."

Harry grinned at Ron's annoyed tone. "Yeah, of course."

"Thank Merlin. My arms were about to fall off. Don't tell my mum though, because she'll have my head for making you do anything resembling a chore."

Harry followed Ron up the stairs, only turning midway to give the kitchen doorway one last glance.

To be perfectly honest, Harry didn't know much about relationships and love.

But as he sat at the dinner table, a swelling feeling of content settling over him, he looked over near the end of the table. He saw Charlie, deep in conversation with Bill about something. He saw Malfoy, her full lips arranged in an amused smirk as she watched George try to force feed Ron a suspiciously green candy behind Mrs. Weasley's back. He saw Charlie's hand resting lightly over Malfoy's palm, their fingers loosely entwined in a casual gesture that probably meant little to anyone else at the table.

And he started to understand.


End file.
